Ocean of Innocence
by livingonadream
Summary: This is Finnick and Annie's entire story, all the way from Annie's reaping up to Mockingjay with flashbacks along the way. Written in both Finnick and Annie's POV, but mostly in Finnick's. All rights go to Suzanne Collins.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey again ;)**

**So I am super excited about this story. I've always wondered about Finnick and Annie's relationship and how they came to be. I couldn't get it out of my head, so I decided to write it down. And I'm in love with both of these characters, so writing them has been so much fun. Also, updates might come a little more frequently at the beginning because I've already written some chapters of the story. I wanted to know where I was going with this before I decided to put it up here, so I already have some ideas brewing. But of course, I'm always open to suggestions or comments, because reviews are like receiving little personal hugs throughout my day to make it better.**

**I really hope you guys like this. PLEASE let me know what you think. I plan to continue this for a good while.**

**So without further ado, Chapter One... (plus a little prologue for some extra insight haha)**

**P.S.- This first chapter's a little short, but I promise they will quickly become longer**

**Prologue: Innocence**

_"You must like seashells," I say, picking up a fistful of sand and watching it run through my fingers. _

_ "I do," she says, her little voice defiant. "Don't you?"_

_ "I guess," I say, not really impressed. "But I like the colorful ones. They're better to look at than these boring white ones."_

_ She's already shaking her blonde wisps of hair back and forth as she listens to my reasoning. "No, that's where you're wrong, Fin." She sounds so much more mature than I am, wise beyond her years, as she strokes the soft, white shell in her hand. "The white is prettiest. It's pure. That's what my mother says. She wore a big white wedding dress the day she married my daddy because white means purity. It means innocence. It's like… a new beginning." Her voice is dreamy and far off, and it seems to carry out past the sand and dance across the waves._

_ My five-year-old brain is miffed by her little rant. "What's innocence?" I ask stupidly._

_ "It's newness," she murmurs. "It's like being free of everything bad."_

_ "And that's white?" I ask skeptically._

_ "Yes," she says, her startling green eyes even then shining with a soft spoken, kind light. She's smiling at the sea, her tiny hand clutching the white shells. "It's my favorite color."_

_ I've had enough of her playing the smart one. And I'm also feeling like she might be crazy—how can white be someone's favorite color when it's not really a color at all? So I chime in, "Do you know what the color white means at sea?" _

_ She looks over at me with wide eyes and whispers, "No. What does it mean?" We are both staring at each other very seriously. She genuinely wants to know._

_ "It means danger. The color that used to mean danger was red, but sometimes the red was too hard to see during sunset or at night. So they changed it to white. So white doesn't always mean good things," I finish, trying to sound as smart as her and ultimately failing._

_ "Oh," she says, her little blonde brows furrowing. "Well, I still think it's something good and pure." The conviction in her voice is unmistakable. _

_ "Well, I don't think so," I retort, brushing the sand off my tan legs.  
"Well, you can go ahead and think what you like, Finnick Odair. But I am probably right." Her eyes widen again and her eyes squint as she back tracks through her brain, realizing the words she's just said. "Sorry, Fin. That was mean. I'm not always right." She pauses briefly then continues talking. "I have to go home now. My mother will yell at me if I'm late again."_

_ "Okay," I nod, standing up quickly. "I will see you tomorrow."_

_ She bobs her head in agreement. "Bye. I'm going with my daddy tomorrow."_

_ "So am I."_

_ With that, she spins and hurries off, her white dress billowing in the dinnertime breeze. The air that whizzes past my nostrils with her passing smells like briny salt and the very comforting scent of vanilla. She smells… _pure_. _

_ So as I turn away from our beach and begin the short walk home, I scoop up a handful of white shells and decide secretly that white _is _pure and innocent and beautiful. Even though the next day I'll continue to argue with her that it's not._

_ But it is. Just like her._

_ Just like Annie. _

**Chapter One: Reaping**

I look past the symmetrical, stone-paved square and over the walls of the store-lined streets towards the sea. It glistens as the sun shines on it, turning the usual dark blue a bright turquoise. With the mood of the district settling into my mind and making me cringe away from the bad memories, I welcome the familiar sight of the ocean. It feels like home and reminds me of my father, even when its magnificence is so out place here on this doomed holiday.

I'm suddenly five years old again, watching my father as he wades into the water, the silvery ripples tugging against the dark hair of his legs. He looks strong and capable as he positions his body, trident in one hand and net in the other. His face wears a look of concentration that he reserves only for days like this, fishing out here in what he calls _his _sea. My mother always says that my father grew up more comfortable with the sand and salt and water than in his own home, and I don't doubt her for one second. My father's face appears lighter and less worn, the wrinkles smoothed out on his leathery forehead, when he stands like this, face turned towards the ocean. I can almost imagine the horizon leaking sunlight across the glistening, white-capped waves, the rays slowly sinking into his face. At five years old, this is how I know my father. I know him as the strong man with the sturdy, born-for-fishing hands, delicate enough to handle the soft, woven nets, yet strong enough to pull in large sea bass that he sells at several markets near the square. He is exactly what I aspire to be. A good man with a bright smile and an easy, natural humor that makes the room feel more buoyant. He is afraid of nothing, and in my small, child-like mind, I realize that he must be a hero. And in a way, I guess you could say my father was my hero. He taught me everything I know now: about fishing, about tridents and spears, and about the importance of living life to its fullest.

He gave me what I needed to survive that hellish arena.

I sigh, a big, gusty breath, pushing that thought out of my head. _Focus Finnick_, I tell myself. _It's just today. Get it over with, and then you can forget about it. _As soon as I think those words, I almost laugh. Right, because today is the only day I have to pretend to be something I'm not for the Capitol.

That couldn't be farther from the truth. But to keep me sane, I pretend that what I've convinced myself is real. That after this, I can go home and breathe a sigh of relief, free of the Capitol and the Games. It just makes the day more bearable.

I used to be terrified of reaping day. I would stand in my roped-off section with all my friends from school, trying to appear tough as I watched our district's escort, LaBelle Driscoll, reach in with her glitter-encrusted nails to pick the name of the next victim. Those first two years, I remember letting out heavy sighs of relief. It wasn't me. I convinced myself it would never be me. I just couldn't imagine it. I felt what everyone else felt, that mix of relief and shameful guilt as you watched the kids who you maybe had known or seen walk up the stage to their imminent death. It was never easy.

But a few days after my fourteenth birthday had passed and I was standing in the sweltering heat once again, roped-off in the square, my name was called. And somehow, I kept it together for my family. For my father, my mother, my younger sister Cora. I wasn't going to let them mourn for me. My mother and sister fell apart, but my dad was the one who had gripped me by the sleeves, gazed into my eyes, and said, almost demanded, "You will win. You have it in you, Finnick. I know it."

And with that, they were all gone, rushed out of the Justice Building, back to our cottage that lie right next to the breezy, salty sea. Cora's sobs haunted me as she left, her bronze hair matted and sticking to her face.

In that moment, I decided to try for them. For my family, I would try. All my life, I had never gone down without a fight.

And those Games, the 65th Hunger Games, I did exactly what I had come to do. To win, to get the whole thing over with as soon as possible in order to get back to my family.

But when I finally thought I was free, done with the sick games of the Capitol for life, I found myself even deeper in than before.

"Finnick?" I hear a voice whisper, calling me out of my daze as the painful memories start to twist inside my mind, knotting into my brain like the golden fishnets my mother used to weave.

It's Mags, my old mentor who slowly over time became the only person I could ever trust again. I relax at the sound of her garbled drawl, feeling a tiny bit of the tension release in my back muscles.

"I'm fine," I assure her, but it's just a breath. We are on the stage now, the all too familiar sound of LaBelle's heels clacking against the recently-polished surface. Her hair is a frightening bright red color, and since last Games she has had diamond gems embedded into her skin that sparkle as she struts around. I hold back a laugh and glance over to see Mags smiling as well at LaBelle's frazzled manner.

She's speaking in rushed hysterics to Mayor Tate, who assures her that everything is to go as planned. Once she hears this she seems to settle down, rubbing her palms together and beginning in that chirpy, Capitol-accented voice.

I tune her out completely, and try to at least pretend to pay attention to the video being projected across the front of the Justice Building. The man's voice drabbles in the background, detailing that same story that I've heard enough to last a lifetime.

It's only when LaBelle finally makes her way over to the two daunting glass balls center stage that I focus my attention. Already I hate the thought of having to mentor two more kids through hell. It's a hopeless situation, but I'm here every year, coaching and supporting and persuading until I realize there's no need to hope anymore. Last year, it was particularly hard when a boy I had grown quite fond of during the mentoring process, Sam, was killed by a crazed tribute from eight. But then again, it's never been easy, no matter if you take the time to actually get to know the kid. I don't even try to think about the previous years, and the previous kids I've watched die, feeling somehow responsible for them not making it home. But in comparison to the other horrors I've faced over these past five years since being crowned a victor, my time in the arena seems almost easy.

It makes me almost laugh humorlessly that that's what it has come down to. As if participating in the Hungers Games is easier than all of this that's happening to me right now.

The air hums with electricity as the population waits, and I hold my breath in anticipation. LaBelle's hand is in the large bowl now, digging and searching for that 'perfect' slip, as she refers to it. When she comes upon a tiny folded square, she snatches it out and gracefully steps to the microphone.

"Annie Cresta!" She chirps, somehow wearing a bright, Capitol-enhanced smile amidst the serious crowd. "Where are you darling? Ah, come now! Don't be shy!"

I see the initial shock. I see LaBelle's look of excitement that disgusts others every year. I see the usual grim, dissatisfied disapproval lurking in many people's eyes, the same as every year. I see an old, withered man, the girl's grandfather, stumbling and fighting against the Peacekeepers uselessly, lamenting the almost-certain death of his granddaughter. I see LaBelle clap her hands together as a girl steps forward from the safety of the crowd, somehow even more beautiful than the last time I saw her as she makes her way to the stage with a slow, deliberate walk. All of these things I register with my own eyes, but I'm not thinking about them. My mind is trained on one thing. Her.

Her face has changed so much in these last few seconds. She already looks worn down and beaten by fear, as if she knows this will be an excruciating weight to bear. Her mouth is pressed into a hard line, and her alarmed eyes try to fight tears. I cringe, and I know Mags notices, but I'm not paying attention to her.

Annie Cresta had once been my best friend.

Our fathers used to work together at the shipyard, hauling off supplies on short voyages and fishing in their free time together. Since the time I could walk, I'd been stuck with Annie, our parents scooting us towards each other so we would play together while they worked. Sometimes we would be with our mothers in the net-making shop, other times in the large shipyard with our fathers. No matter where we were though, we were always together. When school came around, we walked the road every day side by side, even though we were two grades apart. After school, we would sit on the beach and I would teach her how to snare or spear fish, but only if she'd teach me another knot to practice tying afterwards. Day after day I watched her fragile hands expertly knot and tug her rope until she beamed at the finished product. At first, I didn't notice how beautiful she was. I was outgoing and witty; she was timid yet extremely insightful and a little sarcastic if you got to know her well enough. I think I was about thirteen, her eleven, when I finally noticed her beauty: her bright, sea-green eyes, her blonde waves, the way the sunlight glinted off her bronze skin and slender figure. And ironically, just a few months later, I lost her. For good.

I knew things would change with the Games, but when I finally won, I just couldn't burden anyone with the situation at hand. She came to my family's funeral, and I knew she wanted me to tell her what was wrong. Why I was avoiding her. Why we weren't friends anymore.

But I couldn't. Telling your best friend you're being forced into prostitution in order to keep those you still love alive isn't an easy thing to spit out.

Even though I only was fourteen, I saw the way Capitol women looked at me and marveled at my cocky, smooth behavior that was supposed to all be appearance for my Games. All of that changed though when they started wanting me. They didn't care if I was a child, and to them, I grew up fast into a young, dashing man that would be lovely to have over for the night.

Annie didn't necessarily understand that. And I never told her. I missed her every day, but these past five years, the Capitol has consumed my life so much that I hardly can recognize myself or my own thoughts. My life is a puppet string, tied to the Capitol, and I am whatever they want me to be. But whenever I'm at home, she comes back to my mind in fleeting moments. When I see a perfectly woven knot, or on days when the ocean seems to mimic her mesmerizing eyes. Now, I pity her and myself, wishing that I'd somehow had the courage to say something to her after I'd won the Games. Anything but the silence I gave her.

But I guess it's too late for that now.

I'm too wrapped up in the thought of Annie being reaped, with myself as her mentor, to even notice the boy tribute. I only catch his name. York Shell. Him I don't know at all. Then again, these past few years I've spent so much time in the Capitol that it doesn't surprise me I can't remember all these names of children from around the district.

Next to me, Mags sighs as Annie and York shake hands. He looks almost excited, a smug sneer of confidence and determination on his face, and already I can tell he's a Career. Annie on the other hand, looks timid and frightened. Her sea-green eyes are wide, but I can tell she is trying to hide the fear. Something about that expression looks familiar to me, and I stare at her, trying unsuccessfully to get her eyes to meet mine so that she knows I understand what she's going through. I've seen that same pair of terrified eyes almost every year. I once wore that expression myself.

The tributes are led into the wide doors behind us to say goodbye to family and friends. Mags and I don't get the chance to introduce ourselves as they're rushed off to their respective rooms, so we settle in to wait the hour out. I help Mags sit down on one of the worn green loveseats inside the door, and as I fiddle with my hands next to her, Mags rubs gentle circles on my back. Even though I haven't told her, she knows that Annie Cresta is more to me than just another tribute. She won't ask though unless I offer to tell her, which is one of the things I love about Mags. She never pushes you to do anything you don't want to.

When we are finally boarding the train that will whisk us off to the Capitol, I notice Annie's puffy, red eyes widen in surprise at the rich foods and luxurious compartments, but she still doesn't make eye contact with me. York's of course are bright and untainted. Mags seems to be ready to fall asleep, and I myself could use a nice nap, or even better, a swim in the ocean. My father's sea, with the water slowly washing over my skin and eradicating the griminess and worthlessness that comes along with mentoring. The same sea that reminds me of home and how things used to be, before I won the Games and became known and loved by all the crazy women of the Capitol. The sea that on good days reminds me of Annie's eyes. I crave those blue waves that promise safety and security; that show me there is still some shred of innocent, untainted beauty somewhere out there in this unforgiving world.

But as the train glides away, I watch my sea fade with a sinking feeling.

This is going to be one hell of a long ride.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi lovelies!**

**So, I'm back with another chapter. Don't forget to review! It makes my day, and seeing what you guys have to say really motivates me to keep up with this story! **

**Also shout to my reviewer, I'm glad that you are nitpicky haha! I've always imagined Annie with blonde hair, which is why I wrote that into the story, but in order to stay in line with what Suzanne Collins has written, I've fixed the story so that Annie has dark hair :) And I'm glad you like it!**

**Now, speaking of what Suzanne Collins has written... DISCLAIMER: I don't own the Hunger Games or these characters. I'm just obsessed.**

**Anyway, hope you enjoy! Update coming soon!**

**Chapter 2: Train**

I should have talked to her.

I should have stormed into that room in the Justice Building and told her I was going to help her. That I wasn't going to shut her out, and that I was going to be there for her. But for some reason, I stayed firmly planted on that bench for the entire hour, Mags shooting me nervous glances the entire time. And once again, I'm too late.

Now, we're on the train, with the thick, sweet-smelling carpets and delicious, overly-done foods that used to make my mouth water. Now they just remind me of the too-many-parties that I've attended during my stays at the Capitol. I still eat them though. Might as well take something at least mildly pleasant away from my trips.

Mags and I still haven't talked to Annie or York yet. We wait in the dining area of the train, Mags shoving water crest birds into the orange, spicy sauce while I simply sit, rubbing my hand over my forehead. I can already feel the effects of the long day wearing me down. I want to disappear to my room, but that's not allowed. Meeting the tributes and watching the recaps of the reapings today are imperative to begin building a tribute's knowledge about the Games and are mandatory viewing for the entire team. LaBelle sits across from me, daintily using her napkin to pat her mouth clean. Her bright blood-red wig and crystallized skin gleam in the dimmer light of dusk as the trees whiz past outside the window. She's been the District 4 escort for as long as I can remember, but thankfully, she's never seen me as more than an affectionate little pet of hers. I don't even want to imagine being invited into her bedroom for the night, feeling her crystal-studded skin glaze over mine…

I shudder, and abruptly my appetite is gone.

"Finnick?" LaBelle asks, her wide eyes concerned, probably worried that her lovely victor won't be able to let go of his bad mood to charm sponsors. "What is wrong, darling? You must keep up an appearance. Sponsors wouldn't want your pretty face to look so upset. You have been like this all day!"

Yup, right on target. It's all about the sponsors.

Next to me, Mags looks over with a knowing glance and the District 4 stylists, Yvonne and Odiva, nod their heads in fervent agreement with LaBelle. Yvonne doesn't look quite as horrifyingly animated as Odiva though. She's ordinary by Capitol standards, which still makes a her a little bit stranger than people back home in Four, but I like her.

"I'm fine, thank you, LaBelle," I say, mimicking the perfect manners she taught me a few years back when I was preparing for my own games. "I'm just tired, I guess. Being so charming takes work," I smirk, masking my unexplainable annoyance with a sexy grin. As long as I put up this front, LaBelle won't suspect anything.

"Ah, understandable dear!" she chimes, her gold eyelashes fluttering wildly. "It has been quite a day. So exciting!"

I nod tersely. Exciting wasn't exactly my word of choice.

"Well," Yvonne says in her soft-spoken voice, standing up gracefully. "I am going to retrieve Annie now that dinner has arrived."

"Oh yes!" Odiva cries. "I must get York."

A few moments later when everyone arrives, there is an awkward air of silence as we settle ourselves. Just another year with the same old faces, plus two new younger ones. It shouldn't be different, but it is. Especially when I can't seem to look away from Annie, who's now quietly observing as the rest of us mull about the dishes set on the table in front of us.

As usual, LaBelle is the first one to begin conversation and pretend that we are all friends who are meeting for a nice dinner, instead of a group of unwilling, tired pawns waiting for the inevitable death in the arena. "Oh, how lovely you two look! Your prep teams have done a wonderful job tidying you both up!" she pipes up, smiling brightly.

Mags just grins and pats the seat next to her, motioning for Annie to sit as York takes the seat to my left. Annie's eyes are wide again, and I know it's because she's not used to seeing this exotic, expensive food. We survived on the same things growing up, and our meals mainly consisted of salty fish and District 4's seaweed-tinted bread loaves. When I first experienced the Capitol's food, I had been in shock too. But now everything about the Capitol to me is old news.

York controls his excitement over the meal, but by the way he shovels in the food ravenously, I can tell he's never eaten this well. Most tributes haven't before the games.

It's a long dinner with a lot of small talk, and I don't contribute much. Usually these meals on the train are boring and dull as I simply joke around and then collapse into bed, but this year, I'm hyperaware the entire time and tensed with stress. The fact that Annie's here doesn't really allow me to simply sit at the table and go about eating a normal meal. I mean, she isn't some stranger. Technically, I don't think she'd be all that surprised if I simply gave our group the usual crap, making various sexual innuendos and smirking suggestively. But for some reason, I don't want to do that in front of her.

Annie makes a few small comments when Odiva says she loves Annie's bronze skin, or when LaBelle tells her how beautiful she is. I have to admit I agree with both of them. Annie's long eyelashes frame her green irises perfectly, and her bronze complexion complements the lavender dress she's wearing, the same one she was wearing earlier today at the reaping. She seems extra cautious when speaking, and it makes me sad for some reason that the sarcastic, loving girl I used to know is gone. In her place is a timid, tiny person who is polite yet reserved, and definitely not willing to talk to me. The only side of Annie being revealed to me right now is the side she used to show around strangers in the shipyard. Now, to her, I might as well be just another idiotic invention of the Capitol. A freak stranger.

But I deserve that, right?

It feels strange, being back on this train for another year with someone who I know from home besides Mags. The glittery, crystal chandeliers still sparkle the same way, and the plush, maroon carpets and mahogany furniture still gleam with that expensive, impressive quality. Everything is so remarkably unchanged. Just one year ago today, I sat in this very same seat with a different pair of children, who are now dead, gone forever. It makes my heart ache with a strange kind of nostalgia. If only I could go back and do anything and everything to change the outcome for those two terrified kids who sat here with me last year.

Watching the reapings is possibly even longer than the tense dinner. I give up staring at Annie and slump my shoulders on the way to the sofa, so tired and sick of this same ride year after year. Name after name and face after face. Eventually, I don't even pretend to pay attention. Mags notices and tries to understand what's wrong with a twitch of her eyebrows, but I just shake my head imperceptibly. I don't want to talk about it or even put forth the effort myself to figure out why I'm being such an ass today. Usually, I try my best to show my tributes the charming, sensual side of my personality, the me I reveal only for the Games that lets them know they'll have a mentor who will be able to win them sponsors. Today though, I don't even want to think about the look that would be written all over _her _face if I played that sexy, lover-of-all-things-Capitol douche.

Snapping me out of my thoughts, Annie, who is on the velvet-covered couch a few seats over with her legs curled up to her chest, suddenly glances at me. She's noticed Mag's and I's exchange, and her perfectly arched eyebrows rise quizzically.

I keep my gaze locked on hers, and she begins to blush before darting her eyes back to the ridiculously-oversized television set. I slowly turn my attention away from her too, but the rest of the night, the image of her beautiful green eyes boring into mine burns behind my lids. I spit out a stiff-sounding good-night to Annie and York as they traipse back through the train to their compartments. Once they are finally gone, my shoulders droop and I lay my head back against the couch, sighing audibly as the stress fades from my muscles.

Mags, of course, picks up on this too. After spending so much time with me, she can read me better than anyone. Her eyes are understanding but also sad for some reason I can't put my finger on.

"What?" I finally snap, glancing over at her through tired eyes.

Mags smiles sympathetically. "You know girl?" The question hangs in the air. Mags had a stroke a while back and her speech isn't perfect, still slurred and broken. But it's not hard to understand this one.

I nod coldly, turning to watch the now-dark sky illuminate the fields with moonlight as we race past. Already the trees are beginning to fade. The night air looks so inviting, but it's just out of reach, sealed away by the window and soon to be hundreds of miles away. Already, I feel trapped, and I'm not even the one going into that arena in the next few weeks.

Mags scoots across the plush velvet of the sofa until her shoulder is pressed to mine, and she wraps her frail, soft arms around my slumped figure. When she used to do this, right after I won the Games and during the Victory Tour, I would rest my head against her shoulder and breathe in her floral, comforting smell to keep myself sane while away from home. Now that I'm nineteen, it seems stupid for me to want that, but more than anything I wish I could lean into her like a child and have her soothe me. She's the closest thing I have to family now, which is why I turn my head to look at her and decide to tell her this one story, this one little piece of my past.

"We used to be best friends," I say, staring at the lines and wrinkles of Mags' arm that's still wrapped around me. "Our parents knew each other, so we were kind of inseparable. After the Games-" my voice falters, "I came back different. You know what happened to me. And I couldn't figure out how to tell her—I thought it was going to hurt her if we stayed friends; that Snow was going to somehow use her against me like he did with my family. I couldn't tell her what was happening, even though I wanted to. So I didn't. I shut her out, and she's hated me for it ever since. These past five years, I haven't talked to her at all. Every time I saw her at home or on the streets or by the beach, she'd walk away. Now, being back here, it's just—it brings back a lot of memories."

I hate the way my voice sounds, so vulnerable and small, like a child's. But Mags only nods her head in understanding and then pats my shoulder one last time before rising. She won't give me any advice unless I ask her to, which I appreciate. I don't want to talk about it.

When she's leaving the compartment, I tell her good-night and then stay in the living area long after everyone's fallen asleep, watching the windows blur past and toying with the lacy fringe of a throw pillow. Finally, I force myself to go to my room and shower, wiping off all the caked makeup I was forced to wear today, and collapse in bed, hoping for a peaceful sleep.

But tonight, I dream of her.

_She is in the arena, and I am desperately trying to win her sponsors. She needs food badly, so I resort to flirting with countless Capitol women the entire night in order to rake in enough money. They are all touching me, and wanting me to come home with them, and whispering in my ear… It makes me feel disgusting and worthless. But I continue to flirt with them, winking and running my hands through my hair. Anything for Annie, my old best friend. Finally, when the money is there, in my hands and ready to send, I can't. Snow won't let me. I beg him to let me give her what she needs, but he cackles and refuses. I'm angry and so powerless as I watch her on the screen, slowly deteriorating in her starving state. Finally, when I watch her chest heave one last time, a single tear slides down my cheek, the first time I've allowed myself to cry in the past five years. In a broken, choked sob I whisper, "I loved you." _

_ I'm drowning, in an ocean, drowning, drowning without her…_

I jolt awake, confusing memories of a sea-green ocean and a burning desert swirling in my head as LaBelle knocks on my door. "Finnick!" she calls happily. "Breakfast! Come, come!"

I groan and heave myself out of bed, throwing on the first clothes my hands touch and running my fingers through my mussed hair. The dream had felt so real. Everything about it: the worthless money in my hands, the disgustingly seductive whispers of the Capitol women, Annie's body, wracked with dehydration. And most of all those tears, salty and sorrowful, pouring down my cheeks as I told her I loved her.

I stop those thoughts cold. We aren't friends anymore, and we can't be. I'm an idiot. It was just a dream. I don't even know what love is anymore, the closest thing I have to it being Mags. But I won't ever give it away to someone else.

I force myself out of my daydream and come into the dining room, prepared to be a much more helpful, friendly mentor from now on, not the sullen, quiet pessimist I had been yesterday.

"Good morning," I say, taking a seat across from Annie. I automatically regret this when her bright green eyes lock with mine, and I find talking very distracting. My voice falters for just a moment before picking up its former tone. "What's for breakfast?"

"Battered cakes!" Odiva practically screams, bouncing in her chair with excitement. "I've eaten too many already!"

LaBelle laughs and coos, "Oh Finnick, thank goodness you look better than yesterday. I was so worried."

Odiva nods furiously. "Yes, me as well. We all were."

Mags smiles politely, but I know she wants to roll her eyes.

York allows a strange, twisted smile, and Annie simply sits there, her dark hair falling well past her shoulders in mesmerizing, tousled waves. Her face is unreadable but extremely beautiful: I can't imagine the Capitol ever wanting to genetically enhance someone so naturally perfect. Her emerald eyes are staring right into mine, and I gaze back evenly, not daring to smile in fear of making her angry. We just stare, carefully gauging each other's expressions.

"Morning, Annie," I say cautiously, carefully searching her eyes to make sure I haven't crossed any lines. This is the first time I've directly spoken to her in five years. My breath catches.

Her lip curls up in surprise, but she bites it back quickly and composes herself. "Morning, Fin." Now it's my turn to be shocked. Thankfully, I have the decency to keep my mouth from hanging wide open. She just used her old nickname for me, the one that she had coined for me back when we were kids. Besides the shock reeling in the pit of my stomach, my heart releases a small pang and then begins to flutter a little faster than before, sounding loud in my ears. Something about her calling me that makes me want to apologize for everything I've ever done to push her away these past five years right now, begging for her forgiveness. But now's not the time, and even if it was, I couldn't do it. So I simply stare, the edges of my mouth shifting upwards into a knowing smile. She simply gazes back, not even bothering to acknowledge my smile. Maybe she doesn't notice.

The sound of someone clearing their throat rips me from my focus and we both dart our gazes quickly away from each other's. I think it's York who interrupts.

"You two know each other or something?" York asks, sounding impatient and irritated as he talks around a mouthful of eggs.

Annie looks down at the table and clears her throat before leveling York's gaze with those brilliant eyes of hers. "Yes," Annie says shyly. I'm glad she doesn't offer any details.

LaBelle looks like she's about to explode with excitement. "How lovely! Why didn't you two tell us before? Secrets are never any fun!"

I speak up this time. "I guess it just never came up in conversation," I say.

"Ah, well then. At least now we know," LaBelle smiles at me with an endearing gaze. "Let's get started, shall we? When breakfast is finished, Finnick and Mags can spend some time with our lovely tributes; give them some helpful advice while we wait out the rest of the train ride. We should be arriving very soon. The chariot ride is tomorrow, so we have something very exciting to be looking forward to! I hope you two are excited to see your costumes!" she squeals, looking between Annie and York. "I have a feeling they will look fabulous on you dashing young people!"

"Thank you," Annie smiles, her timidity back in place. York just smirks and I'm already realizing that's an expression that's going to be permanently etched onto his face.

Well, at least one tribute will look beautiful tomorrow night.


	3. Chapter 3

**Happy Saturday, everyone!**

**So this update came a lot sooner that I thought it would have, but I was feeling inspired so I decided to sit down and start editing... And this sort of just happened :) I hope you guys like chapter 3, and PLEASE review and follow and tell me what you think. It keeps me writing.**

**And thanks to everyone who has reviewed. Your comments mean the world.**

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter 3: Like I Do**

The next day, when every single District team has arrived at the Training Center, people are scurrying and shouting as preparations are made for the City Circle parade. The ominous-looking wooden gates swing open over and over again, revealing stressed mentors and crazy Capitol attendants bustling in accompanied by freakish stylists who are screaming in worry about the absolute downpour outside. I simply stand by my tributes' chariot, stroking District 4's horse Oceania and popping sugar cubes. About two years ago, I'd thrown one into my mouth to sweeten the bitter aftertaste of a particularly sloppy kiss I received from an aging woman who was apparently one of my biggest fans; despite the fact that she could barely remember my name she was so drunk. After that, every year it's become a habit, almost a ritual, to steal the so-called horse treats. It's a little charm to boost my sexual appeal for the Capitol's women and a way to keep a little sanity for myself too. The crunch takes my mind off the immediate world and the Games and how disgusting all of it is, while the sweetness reminds me of Mags's cherry brittle and the incense my mother used to burn when our house began to smell too much like fish. Back then, it even reminded me a little bit of Annie. So undeniably sweet, almost like vanilla.

"What the hell?" I hear a mentor from One, Brutus, yell in my general direction as the gates swing wide once again and rain soaks onto the hard, concrete floor. "Is this supposed to be stopping anytime soon? We've got a show to put on here!" He's the kind of mentor that actually cares if stupid events the Capitol puts on get ruined or sacked; the kind of mentor who cheers when his tributes kill someone, and gets a little bit cockier each time he brings home another victor.

He's a dickhead.

I roll my eyes at his words. We're in an enclosed space attached to the Training Center, completely protected from the wind and rain, so I don't know if he wants me to make conversation with him or not. Honestly, I don't give a damn about the rain. It's just delaying the inevitable.

Finally, after what feels like forever, the rain against the roof subsides, and it's suddenly bright, light pouring in the cracks under the gates to the city. Tributes are filing in as stylists frantically adjust makeup and scream praise: it's chaotic, not my kind of scene at all. So with this in mind, I wander away and out through a side door, into the bright sunlight that's quickly fading to a dusky, rose-colored evening.

The crowd's roar is deafening, and the stands are packed with colorful, screaming people, even though the tributes haven't made an appearance yet. Yvonne and Odiva are probably back in the Training Center by now with Annie and York, about to send them on their way. I caught a glimpse of York earlier as I was leaving the chariots, and he's dressed in a turquoise suit with silver, coral designs weaving all over it. He looks good, I guess, but the way his sneer of confidence accents his face makes him ten times less appealing, at least according to me.

I'm in the crowds now, near the mentor's roped-off area where I'll sit during the parade, but instead of talking to other victors, who can actually be likeable sometimes, I am chatting up a ditzy Capitol woman who's eagerly hugging the red dividing rope. She strokes my forearm, and I flash her that crooked smile I learned so many years ago. It works every time.

"So, Finnick," she trills, her fluttery voice seeping into my pores. Already I feel used and disgusting. "I'm free tonight if you want to come home with me…? My husband's going to be gone all night with a friend." Her eyes portray no hint of guilt at the fact of betraying her husband, and I want so badly to say no, but I know that's not allowed. So I wink, and then stand up to leave.

"I'll be there," I croon, gazing into her eyes with my smoldering ones. "Meet me at the Grand Hotel." She looks like she's about to faint, so I turn away, waving with a cocky grin before quickly walking back towards the Training Center doors. I don't want to cause a scene, but I can't spend another minute next to that woman I'm meeting tonight whose name I don't even know.

"It's Finnick Odair!" screams a surgically-enhanced lady whose standing near the front of the crowd, decked out in a purple wig and silver jumpsuit. "Look!"

I curse under my breath and quicken my stride, but I know Snow is watching me, wanting me to elicit the right reactions. So I wave and smile and wink seductively until I'm behind the safety of the door. The women have started to chant my name, drowning out the other chatters in the crowd. How sick to think that they know me and love me for only my body, just one small part of the person that_ is_ me. I'd rather be known for anything else.

My smile has dropped and now I'm looking for Mags. She's standing next to our chariot, giving York and Annie some helpful pointers. They've already been hoisted up into the seat, prepared to ride the chariot into the City Circle. Oceania stands on guard, her white body tall and strong, the same as it was five years ago when she pulled me through these same gates. It sad's to think that something so innocent can so willingly bring someone into something like this. Something like the Games.

But then, I notice _her_. And all my thoughts about how horrible all of this is simply disappear with a single glance.

We discussed Annie's strategy over dinner last night, but it's clear she doesn't need any help becoming who she needs to be. She portrays that sweet, innocent girl perfectly, because she _is_ that girl. Now, with her soft curls falling loosely all the way down her back and her nude, shimmery lips parted, the only word to describe her is _sweet_. She looks perfect, radiant, yet those jade eyes still bear the same kindness and compassion that looked up into mine as a kid. Compared to her face, her cropped bustier composed of two, extremely revealing seashells and her brilliant, aqua mermaid tail seem dull, even though they are well-done by Capitol standards. Annie's green eyes, highlighted and flaunted with subtle, silvery makeup, are the only thing I can focus on.

"Finnick!" Mags motions for me to come over. I walk slowly, hoping Annie didn't catch me gawking at her.

"Hey there," I say, smiling with a sexy smirk. Mags laughs, knowing that I'm only teasing. She swats my arm, but her eyes look lovingly into mine. She's like a grandmother, warm and soft and comforting.

"You both look great," I say genuinely, allowing myself another chance to stare into Annie's eyes, which seem to be smoldering effortlessly. "I'm assuming Mags already gave you the run of the mill, but just remember: smile, wave, be happy, all that. Keep them wanting more."

They both nod, and I can see the amusement lurking in Annie's eyes. She tries to compose it well; I can tell because her lips are curling in concentration, the same way they used to as kids whenever she was focused on something. Abruptly, I'm confused. She looks like she's about to laugh, but I'm not sure why. Is it because she hates me so much it's comical? Or is it because she can see right through this act I put on for the cameras and the tributes and the mentors? I don't know.

Just like I don't know why these next words slip out of my mouth.

"What, Cresta? You think I'm funny?" My voice is light, but then I bite my lip in hesitation. _What the hell, Finnick? Shut up! She doesn't want anything to do with you._

Her eyes widen, but I can see the small smile forming on her lips despite her best efforts to control it. "Shut up, Odair."

I can hear that sarcastic sweetness in her tone, the one I've missed so much, and suddenly we're kids, on the beach playing in the water, just us and no one else. I don't know what to make of this. She doesn't seem angry or hurt or determined to shut me out. She seems like… _Annie_. Loving and caring to a fault, with that funny, quiet sarcasm.

"Hey, now, I'm your mentor, remember? Aren't I supposed to be the one telling you to shut up?" My eyebrows rise. Once again, I yell at myself, _What the hell are you doing?_

"No," Annie says, her eyes twinkling. "As far as I can remember, I've always been the one telling you to shut up."

I laugh loudly, a genuine laugh, and Annie timidly joins in. A lightness in the pit of my stomach rises up and consumes me, despite my worry that things between us are awkward and unsettled. York looks dumbfounded, swiveling his head back and forth between Annie and me, while Mags simply throws a toothy smile my way.

"Touché," I purr, laughing and stepping away from the chariot. "Remember, chins up, heads high, _smiles_. Lots of them. Make your cheeks hurt the next day. I'll be watching." I toss a wink their way to make them uncomfortable, but Annie just rolls her eyes subtly, somehow still keeping that air of sweet kindness. York looks a little disgusted. I'm glad.

"Well, well, if it isn't the lovely Finnick Odair." The voice is right behind me, sarcastic and jeering.

"Shut up, Johanna," I laugh, giving Annie an encouraging wink right as the doors to the City open. I'm still not sure what's just happened between us, or how I got the courage to talk to her as if nothing ever happened with our friendship, but I welcome it. As much as I'd like to admit otherwise, I've missed her like hell these past five years. And that alone scares me shitless.

Johanna interrupts and halts me from exploring my thoughts, which for some absurd reason can't focus on anything but Annie. "How are you?" she sneers teasingly. "Still sexing up those Capitol idiots?"

I ignore her jibe, because even though she doesn't say it, she understands me. And she knows I don't visit different rooms every night by choice. She's only been a victor for two years, but she's not an idiot. She's just trying to keep things light, and I appreciate that. "Are you still at home, polishing your axe, tree girl?" I toss back jokingly.

She cackles, a distinct laugh that makes my eyes narrow. "Right."

I smirk, realizing I'm actually glad to have her here tonight. Her family's gone too, and over these past two years, we've gained a camaraderie of some sort. "How are your tributes this year?" I ask.

"They aren't worth shit," Johanna states dryly. Always telling the truth. "I almost feel bad for them. And yours? I heard a few freaks outside talking about your girl."

I like the words 'my girl' much more than I should, but I keep calm as I answer. "Oh, yeah, Annie?" I'm not sure why, but my voice sounds a little shaky with obvious tension. I shouldn't be doing this. It's Annie, my tribute, not Annie, my old best friend. I need everyone to see that… The mentors, the tributes, the Capitol…

"I guess," Johanna mutters nonchalantly, interrupting my panicked thoughts. She catches the uncomfortable tone in my voice though and immediately looks up, staring at me for an immeasurable amount of time before her eyes start to widen and grow dark with an indefinable mockery. "What is that, Odair? Are you trying to play coy? Because it sure as hell isn't working."

"What?" I ask her, my cheeks tingling with a subtle red.

"What the hell? Is Finnick Odair, royal sex god of Panem, blushing? What's gotten into you?"

"Johanna, you're delusional," I insist smoothly. I can only hope she doesn't hear my bluff.

"Like hell, fish boy. It's the girl, isn't it?" My eyes narrow and betray the uncomfortable feeling settling in the pit of my stomach. Johanna's cackling loudly now.

"You idiot! Who would have ever thought? Finnick Odair falls for sexy sweetheart Annie, who just so happens to be his tribute! Really, Finnick?"

I give her a warning glare. "Johanna, shut up. You're too loud for your own good and mine." I'm using the Capitol as an excuse, but I don't like her words either. They make me feel confused and out of control. I don't feel that way about anyone. The Capitol marred my ability to love, and I can't ever let anyone in again. Especially not Annie…

"So defensive. Whatever, Odair," she laughs. "I have to leave anyway, so calm down. Blight's waiting. I won't question you about your precious Annie. Just keep me updated, okay? I gotta know how this one turns out." With that, she turns on her heel and stomps away, still cackling throatily as if this situation is just the funniest thing ever. I grimace. How the hell was she able to pick up on this awkward discomfort knotting in the pit of my stomach? How can she pretend to know how I feel when I don't know myself? Annie and I aren't even friends really, and here Johanna is, harassing me like the brutally honest and crazily intuitive survivor she is. No surprise there.

Maybe I should ask her later just exactly what she thinks is going on.

XXXXXXX

The parade is long and drags, but Annie and York are stunning. Johanna throws me suggestive looks as Annie's beautiful mermaid scales come into view, twinkling against the fading light in the city, but I ignore her good naturedly. People scream with delight when they see my young pair of tributes, especially when Annie smiles back at them, catching their flowers and waving with a sweet smile that is unmistakably hers. You can tell by the way they chant her name that they already love the beautiful, kind girl from District 4.

If only they knew her like I once had.

Or maybe, just maybe, like I still do.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hi friends! Happy almost Easter! Once again, I've kind of been on a writing kick lately, so that's what I've been doing whenever I have free time, which I don't have a whole lot of :( Anyways, I hope you like this chapter. It's both Finnick and Annie's POV, so tell me your thoughts on it. **

**Oh and I can't forget: a HUGE thank you to my reviewer, XThe mad girl back HomeX! Your review made my day! Not only am I so glad you like the story, but you said I was genuinely nice?! I could say the same thing about you! That was so sweet of you! I'm sending you lots of love right now, wherever you are in the world :)**

**So, here ya go. Enjoy and DON'T FORGET TO REVIEW. IT KEEPS ME WRITING**

**Also DISCLAIMER: The usual. I don't own the Hunger Games. **

**Chapter 4: The Truth**

**Annie**

I feel good for the first time in two days.

The crowd had been screaming my name, throwing me kisses, chanting their approval… and although I don't understand how anyone could ever simply stand there and be okay with this, allow all these innocent children to die, I am silently thanking my lucky stars when I see the crowd's reaction. They like me. And that gives me a sort of doomed hope, something I haven't allowed myself to feel at all since my name was called at the reaping. If anything, at least I have the slightest glimmer of a chance now, even if I'll never come close to being as powerful or well-liked as those scary, huge killing machines from District One this year. And I wouldn't want to be like them anyway. I'd rather die being myself; die _without_ being a murderer, rather than transform into a brutal killer for a week or two only to have all those people I personally killed haunt me for the rest of my life after that.

It's all so terrible, it makes me sick. My mother used to say that I was as fragile as glass. I cried when a baby seal washed up on the shore next to our home dead, and labored day after day to make sure all of my seashells were spotlessly clean, each in their rightful place on my small, white-washed and worn driftwood bedside table. I loved the water, the crashing waves sounding almost like a familiar lullaby whenever I felt scared or alone. Finnick and I used to sit in the sand and draw patterns, a million different kinds: seashells, starfish, suns… All making a textured, beautiful work of art in the soft, pristine powder. He'd always tell me stories about a faraway place called Dreamland, a place that he'd apparently seen where everyone was good and there were no more bad people, no more death, no more Hunger Games. I idly wonder if he still remembers that story he used to tell me.

Now that all the Capitol extravaganzas are finished for the day, I'm staring at the bed's silken, blue sheets that are loose and bunched from where I rested on them earlier. They remind me of the ocean at home, and suddenly I'm thinking of District 4 and my family and that suffocating, immediate homesickness. Within a matter of seconds, my brief feeling of hope is diminished. I'm fragile, just like I was a little girl, not cut out for all of this. I can't kill people.

How have other tributes managed this? I want advice on how to _survive_, not murder, but the only person I can get that from…. is Finnick, considering Mags is supposed to be training York separately. And how much does he really know? He won his Games by doing exactly the opposite of what I'm capable of: he murdered people. I'm not even sure how I would begin to ask for his help, it's been so long. _So, Finnick, I was just wondering, how did you turn off those guilty and scared feelings and turn into a pretty monstrous human being for those two weeks? Mind sharing with me your secrets? Just keep in mind that I really don't want to start killing people like you did._

I shudder at the thought. No, I couldn't do that to him. Even after all that has happened or not happened between us, I would never make him feel bad about himself. And I still don't believe he's truly a bad person. I've seen that look of lonely emptiness when he'd passed me in the District, heard that confusion in his voice when he told Mags to tell me that I couldn't come to see him anymore. He'd definitely broken my heart by suddenly cutting me out of his life, but I wasn't stupid, even then. I knew something had happened to him. I still know that. So why can't I just ask him? Why can't I just ask him why he pretends for all these people and has decided to go along with this whole different-lover-every-night agenda? Maybe he does actually want to be some idealized, male heartthrob, and I'm just overestimating the goodness of his heart. Maybe I'm completely wrong. How should I know? All I know is that when I couldn't fall asleep last night and wandered into the dining area to order some cold coconut milk to remind me of home, something my brother and I used to drink before bed, Finnick was there, tugging on an expensive-looking jacket and slipping out the door and down the stairs to the ground floor of the Training Center. But not before I caught the look of utter hollowness and loneliness etched onto his face. Seeing that, the pure exhaustion and defeat marring his absurdly handsome features, I'd almost gone after him.

He hadn't seen me, but I'd wanted more than anything to help him in that moment and offer him the love and protection and comfort that he's clearly not received these past five years, except for maybe from Mags.

I'd give anything just to know where he goes at night.

Because something about the look on his face and the careless ease with which he slipped out the door last night had reminded me of my father when he was fishing; it looked so habitual and recurring, as if it was routine. And for me, the idea of this strange ritual Finnick carries out every night repeating itself is even more concerning.

As these thoughts swirl around in answerless circles and cause a dull ache to drum against my skull, I'm in my bathroom, about to shower off the makeup and hair product from the night, when I hear a loud knock. "Come, come!" Labelle chants, that high-pitched accent piercing the still, darkening air of my compartment. "Dinner!"

I sigh tiredly, realizing the shower is pointless now. Oh well. I simply change into more comfortable clothes and leave my exquisite, much-too-revealing costume draped across my bed, not knowing where else to put it. My hair and makeup are still in place, but I don't have time to wash it all off. With a simple run of a brush through my styled curls, I'm out the door of my room and walking to the dining table.

I'm purposefully padding down the hallway, my feet making soft _thuds_ against the thick carpet, when LaBelle's voice rings in a clear murmur through the air, blanketed in what I suppose for her is meant to be a whisper. Of course her attempt at whispering sounds more like a loud, opinionated statement, considering LaBelle doesn't seem like the type of person someone would ever call _quiet_. More like extremely… lively. And loud. And maybe just a little garish and fake, too, even though I can't hate her because she means so well.

"Something is going on with that…" she argues, her voice straining to control its volume. It sounds like she's maybe talking to Yvonne and Odiva, "escort to stylist _gossip_" as she would probably refer to it. "He stares at her constantly, and I don't even try to pretend that I don't notice. It's absurdly obvious! We must tell the poor girl!"

I crinkle my eyebrows in discomfort. I've never liked talking about people, much less when it's secretive, and I almost feel bad for whichever poor Capitol girl LaBelle's talking about. Of course, she has to find a way into the romantic lives of everyone she meets.

Yvonne clears her throat and interrupts politely, much quieter than LaBelle has been. "No, no LaBelle. That's for Finnick and Annie to work out."

I blanch. They're talking about me and _Finnick_? That makes no sense… We haven't even talked to each other once this entire time without an audience, but LaBelle mentioned something about Finnick… staring. At me.

Suddenly, I realize what she means. They think he's in love with me! Finnick Odair, the guy who has so completely shut me out these past five years, in love with me, his forgotten best friend? I shake my head in quiet disbelief. They can't think that. He… he left me. And I've been trying to show all of them how mad I am at him, all to no avail though. I'm not good at holding grudges, and something about Finnick's calming, humorous demeanor makes it impossible for me to stay angry with him and contain my laugh. I know they have it wrong, and I don't want to hear them discuss me and Finnick anymore as if we aren't here, so I quickly make my footsteps appear louder and rush into the dining room, only to be greeted with a pregnant, palpably uncomfortable silence. I take a seat and begin to dish the mashed potatoes onto my plate slowly, deliberately.

As I sit in the uncomfortable silence that reminds me why I'm here, in this room and in this city, my leg begins to bounce up and down uncontrollably, as if it has a mind of its own. I'm nervous about training, scared for the Games, physically drained from today, and exhausted from nightmares and sleep deprivation. Out of all of these emotions though, ironically the one thing most on my mind is so unlike all the others. Confusion, mingled with excitement and doubt and concern… and basically every other descriptive adjective in the book.

What's even more ironic about all of those crazy emotions is that they're all centered on one person, who for some reason has a subconscious power; a way of making my thoughts only about him, despite what I tell myself to feel.

Finnick.

**Finnick**

"You were fabulous!" LaBelle shouts, rising out of her seat when Annie pads into the living area later that night after dinner, her makeup and elaborate curls finally washed away, a fresh face and pajamas taking their place. Even when she's clearly exhausted, her dark, seaweed waves still fall perfectly and her eyes shine. She looks… _soft_. There's no hatred or murderous glares rooted in her bright, sea green irises. On the other hand York, who's sitting on a plush loveseat, throws Annie irritated glances frequently. He knows that all the sponsors are talking about the beautiful girl from District 4.

Annie's cheeks redden and she tucks a long, dark lock behind her ear. "Thank you," she murmurs, quietly taking the seat next to me. I feel my body tense; I shouldn't be reacting this way when she's this close to me. If she saw my taut muscles and twitching hands, she'd probably feel uncomfortable and scoot even farther down the couch then she already is. Why do I react like this? I don't know the answer to that, but I decide that for now, I might as well do what I want, consequences be damned just for these few days, so I bump my shoulder against hers, hoping against all hope that she doesn't push me away like I did her.

"You're golden, Annie Bananie," I purr as I try desperately try to convey to her that I'm just trying to be friendly. "Everybody loves you." The old nickname rolls off my tongue easily, and for a moment it's almost as if we never stopped being friends. Except now her look is confused, and maybe a little disgusted I think, until she cautiously returns my teasing smile, reminding me that the word 'friendship' doesn't really pertain to us anymore. I can tell she doesn't understand why I'm talking to her. The way I treated her after my Games; hell, she probably thinks I hate her.

"Whatever, Finnick." She rolls her eyes but lets out a little laugh, her sarcasm sounding undeniably innocent while also giving me the tiniest bit of hope. Maybe she won't push me away, at least when we're in front of others.

"Oh, don't worry. I don't think you'll ever be known as the sex symbol of Panem like me," I snicker, winking at her to lighten this frantic sensation of longing that she seems to elicit out of me. She swallows, then shakes her head slowly, a small smile lighting her face. I wouldn't admit this because it would embarrass her, but in my honest opinion, she's much better-looking than I am by a long shot. And the things I've done to people… lied to them, accepted their pleasure for money, _murdered_ them even…. It makes me disgusting in comparison to Annie's good-natured, innocent heart. I'm charming and witty and funny, sure, but those traits of mine are immensely exaggerated for the pleasure of the Capitol, not for myself. She on the other hand, is beautifully sweet, shy, and timid, yet also a little sarcastic and hilariously adorable. Beautiful and kind and comforting and _good_… Suddenly, my thoughts freeze.

There's no doubt in my mind, in anyone's mind, that Annie Cresta is all those things. She attracts the crowd in a different way than I did; pulls them in by being herself and looking the way she does while also possessing that lovable, kind air that she emanates, unlike me, who had used my sexual appeal and charm to convince people to like me when I was in the Games. Capitol women loved me, but were Capitol _men _similar? Could Snow force Annie into the unspeakable things I've been forced into because she is desirable to some twisted freak man that can't find pleasure anywhere else? Suddenly I feel sick, and I wish our team would have decided to portray her as anything other than kind and beautiful, so that no one else would feel this growing attachment towards her like they do. But that would've only meant less sponsors and less money rolling our way, which would have never worked in her favor.

After the thought of Annie travelling to the Capitol several times a month like I do to provide the disgusting Capitol men with entertainment ingrains itself into my mind, our steaming lamb stew and chocolate covered fruit threaten to make a reappearance. All I can focus on is my worry for her. Would Snow do it? Use her like he's used me? Of course he would.

We watch the recap of the City Circle parade and then I wish everyone a goodnight to slink up to the roof of the Training Center. I'm sick with worry for Annie. It's dark outside, the night air breezing around the miniature garden, complete with lush greenery and tiny, clear-blue lily ponds that are the closest thing to an ocean in the Capitol. Wind chimes clank together loudly in the midst of the windy night air, and the coolness raises goose bumps on my skin, making me a little uneasy. So wrapped up in my own thoughts about the Games and Annie's fate, I don't even hear her until she's beside me. I'm startled, wondering how she found the door to this roof, my little safe haven from the world of the Capitol and the Games and every outside force that I've felt the need to escape over these past few years. Although I have to leave in an hour to meet another needy Capitol woman, the one who introduced herself at the parade, I pretend that I don't. That all I have to do tonight is sit and watch the stars float in the sky, dreaming of my freedom and freedom for this world.

It's so much easier to pretend.

She doesn't say anything, but just sits next to me with her legs crossed. Her hair is blowing in the light breeze and I can taste the scent of it on my tongue, a mix of sweet vanilla with bitter saltiness. It smells like home, with just a hint of that unfamiliar spice of the Capitol's much-too-thick and much-too-perfumed hair products.

"How'd you find me?" I ask, my voice flat. It's the first time I've talked to her yet these past five years without that Capitol façade tainting my voice: I actually sound like myself, tired and worthless and so sick of _pretending_. It's almost nice for a change.

She stares straight ahead. "You looked upset," she murmurs. "So I followed you. I couldn't sleep."

"Oh" is all I say.

_Wow, Finnick. Nice way to get some conversation started_.

"Finnick, can I ask you something?" She turns towards me suddenly, her tiny, frail shoulders leaning towards me. I tense up in response. "What are we doing here? Why are we acting like this?"

"I don't-" I say, about to play the part of the confused idiot when she cuts me off.

"And don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about," she quips. "I saw the way you were acting with Mags that night. You're hiding something from me." Her voice sounds hard, the natural sweetness in it lacking. I sigh gustily, wringing my hands. Why can she see through me when nobody else can? The Capitol is happy to continue pretending that I love them in return, so I must be somewhat convincing… I just wish I could fool her. When she sees my obvious hesitation, her face softens and she continues her relaxed soliloquy in a gentle, soft tone, just like she used to when we were kids and she would remind me for the thousandth time to not go in the boat without asking or to put on the suntan lotion my mother gave us. She had always been mature for her age, even back then, and I can tell that's one thing that hasn't changed.

"You can tell me, Fin. Last time I remember," she reasons, no malice or judgment in her voice at all, "You were the one ignoring me and cutting me off completely. Now, here you are trying to talk to me and I don't even understand why we stopped being friends in the first place. You were my _best_ friend, Finnick. I waited around for you; I wanted you to come to me. But you never did. You simply moved on, and I tried to- I really did. But here I am, five years later, still finding myself caring when something seems wrong with you, even though you probably wouldn't care if it was me. But I just can't sit here and watch your eyes go wide and your shoulders go stiff, just like they used to when you were upset, and do _nothing_. I still care about you. Nothing will change that. Now tell me what's been bothering you, and then I'll leave." She sounds so oddly demanding, but at the same time her eyes are filled with an untainted, undeniably kind concern that makes me feel a little lighter, a little more like the naive boy from District 4 and a little less like the worthless, lonely Capitol slut forced to sell his body.

"You're wrong."

My whispered words echo around the now-still rooftop after what seems like minutes of agonizing silence. They soak into the air, permeating it with a tangible intensity.

"About what?" she questions softly. Her gaze is boring into mine, those bright eyes practically glowing in the dark. I shiver.

"About me and you," I mumble, liking the way those words sound together. I want to stop myself before I say something stupid, but I can't. "I've never stopped caring about you, Annie. You were _my_ best friend, too. But the Games just—they broke me. I couldn't tell you what was happening to me, even though I wanted to. I just couldn't find the words. Then my family was gone and I was so worried I was going to hurt you… I decided to shut you out, Annie, but not because I wanted to. And God, I'm so sorry that I made you feel that way. If I could do it all over again I would—I would do everything differently."

She stares at me, concern and shock mingling on her perfect face. "What happened to you, Finnick?" she mumbles, her voice lost in thought. "What did they do to you?" She sounds horrified, and I can understand why. She's so kind I can't imagine her reacting to what actually happened to me well at all.

"It's—it's complicated," I mutter.

I can't tell her. It's too dangerous. She'll hate me. She'll think I'm an idiotic, manipulative man… She'll be disgusted. And Snow would find out, somehow…

But I want to. I want to let her in this time, to give her this part of me. I just can't.

"Finnick…" She can see in my eyes that I've made the decision to shut her out. Her voice is so strained with worry that it makes my heart melt a little, and I realize my breathing has sped. Can I say no to her? I want to let someone else just finally understand so badly…. All these years, Mags has suspected what's been going on while everyone in the District turned a blind eye to my clearly ridiculous antics, but I've never let anyone in so deep, never actually said these words out loud to anyone. Can I do it?

"Annie, I can't." My face sags and my voice sounds defeated.

"Finnick, I-" she tries to continue.

"I can't!" I yell, stopping her calm reasoning mid-sentence. "I just—can't, okay? I want to give you this; I want to tell you _everything_! That's what I've always wanted! All these years, I've almost come up to you hundreds of different times, just about to say sorry and explain it just to _be_ with you again, when I remember that I can't have do that anymore. Sometimes, life doesn't work the way we want it to, Annie, and that's what's happened to me. I can't do what I want. So please, just—I can't."

Her eyes are wide in shock, but the crisp, bright green of her irises seem different. They're slowly melting, seeping down onto her cheeks as a few stray tears leak down her face. I instantly regret what I've said.

"Hey," I murmur, my voice cracking. "Don't cry. Please. I won't be able to live with myself if you do." She tries to sniffle, but I can tell she can't contain herself. It hurts me even more to see her try so hard just to placate me over this. Now, I'm begging. "Please, Annie. Don't cry over this."

"I was your best friend, Finnick," she gasps, her dark hair whipped into tendrils from the wind that had been gusting powerfully mere minutes ago. "I still am. I know you've ignored me, but no one knows you like I do, no matter how much you try to prove otherwise. You just want to shut people out all the time and become this emotionless, lonely person that just bears all of this—this _pain_," her voice cracks on the word, "alone. And I don't know how you've done it. Because I would have needed you. I would have _wanted_ you. Just… don't shut me out. I'm still that little girl from the beach that you used to bicker with. You can tell me, whatever it is. Is it your family? Is it the Capitol?" She looks helpless, and I can't stand it for another second. Her eyes look like extremely large, beautiful lost pools of blue-green ocean.

I know those eyes. They've been with me for years, known me through so much. I should be able to give them this. If anything, she at least deserves to know why we can't be friends, why I can't ever let my guard down around her again after this moment… So, with my eyes locked on hers, I begin, in a small, rushed whisper, trying to hurry to spit the inevitable out. I ignore all of her previous questions, and just start from the very beginning, in a small, broken voice, trying not to focus too hard on what I'm about to say so that I don't stop myself from starting.

"Snow… after my Games, he asked to meet with me," I whisper, trying to keep my voice calm. "I knew something was wrong, but I really didn't have a choice. So I made a trip to the Capitol to see him, and what he told me... I was horrified by it. I thought that once I won the Games, I would be free to go home and only have to think about them once a year as a mentor. I wanted to escape it all. But I couldn't… I—Snow, he wanted to sell my body."My voice falters with a hoarse crack, and I shudder at my words, very careful to not look at Annie's innocent face warped into some twisted expression she processes my words. I can feel her twitch beside me, but I continue anyway.

"I said no of course. I was fourteen, and I wasn't going to do something like that… But I didn't tell my parents because I was scared they would worry themselves to death and get in trouble trying to protect me. So I told him no. A few days later, though, my family was gone, all mysteriously killed in an "accident at sea". I knew Snow had done it. He'd _killed_ my family because I hadn't agreed to do what he wanted. So the day after the funeral, I wrote a letter to him, agreeing just to do whatever it took to keep the rest of the people I loved safe. Which included you.

"I tried to avoid you, Annie. I didn't want to burden you with this, for you to feel what I was feeling. You didn't deserve it. You weren't the one in the Games. That day when you came to my house and Mags told you I didn't want to talk, that _killed _me. Because that was when I realized whether I told you about Snow or not, you would still get hurt. But I was young and stupid and I didn't know how to tell you without falling apart…" I'm rushing now, talking so fast I'm not sure she can understand, but I keep going anyway. "I needed you, but I wouldn't admit it. And then when I started going back to school and I avoided your gaze in the halls and ate lunch away from our usual spot, I knew I was hurting the both of us. I was a coward. I decided to let go of my feelings. To push you away like a bad dream and forget about our friendship. I had to keep you safe," I whisper, my eyes stinging. It's suddenly quiet, and my shoulders slump. I've told her what she needs to hear.

_Don't cry, Finnick. She doesn't need to see that._ That's what I'm thinking, but it's taking a lot of effort to hold in these tears. Here in the steady breeze of the rooftop wind, I feel all traces of my exaggerated, sexy, and charming public persona slip away. I feel like a child again, so vulnerable and exposed, my feelings easily written across my features like an open book. That's what my mother used to call me. An open book. After I lost just about everything though, that term became the last two words anyone would have ever used to describe the real me. I shut myself up and hid behind the other Finnick, the one who loved the Capitol and courted countless, unsuspecting women. Having someone know everything so completely… It feels terrifying yet so- _releasing_. My chest feels lighter, my lungs not as tight. I've never told anyone about this darkest secret of mine, and this night is the first time since those Games that I have opened myself up this wide to anyone.

And now that I'm thinking about it, I wouldn't want that person to be anyone but Annie.

I just hope now that I've allowed her in I'll be able to let go of her again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hi guys! Hope you had a lovely Easter! I'm so ready for summer now.**

**Anyway, to the story ;) Soooo I know this is a really short chapter, but I just wanted to sort of do a tiny little bit of Annie's POV after she's finally heard Finnick out just to get a glimpse of how she reacts. Next few chapters will be prominently Finnick's POV :) Also, don't be fooled by this chapter. I definitely love Finnick and Annie and want them to get together (obviously), but I think the journey of how they get there and the wait makes the romance even more worth it. So even though they are "friends" now, be expecting some angst and stuff, because I don't want them to get together right away. I want it to be a surprise. **

**And while you're at it, please review. Because I love it and it really keeps me writing this story. I haven't gotten too many yet, but it's all good :) I'm just glad that you all who have read it so far seem to be enjoying it. But really, tell me your thoughts. I love constructive criticism, or happy comments too. They make me love writing this even more.**

**So, here you go. Chapter Five. **

**Chapter 5: Annie**

I'm so confused, so heartbroken, so in shock, so… _sorry_.

When he finally finishes talking and simply stares off into the distant mountains, eyes closed and lips turned upwards into a painful grimace, I try to mask my horrified face and guilt-ridden heart. All to no avail, of course.

Everything misguided I have ever thought about Finnick Odair these past five years, here in this moment with his usually confident, composed eyes looking so vulnerable, I vehemently take back. With every ounce of strength my heart can muster, I forgive him in a mere second; something that I always used to think would take me years to do. After he shut me out, I never thought I would be able to see his way and understand why he did what he did, even though every time I saw his hollow look and sad eyes I forgave him a little more, even if it was subconscious. Now, I realize that all those days that I tried to be mad with him, my thoughts couldn't have been more wrong.

I don't understand how someone could do this. How someone could take my Finnick, the lanky, funny fourteen-year-old idiot and turn him into a used and broken nineteen-year-old man. Suddenly, I'm mad. And not just mad, but I'm _furious_. I hate President Snow, I hate the Capitol, and I hate anyone who ever had anything to do with deciding that it would be a fantastic idea to sell the desirable tributes like money. Prostitution is illegal! It's disgusting… It's wrong!

It surprises me, considering I've never felt this strongly about anything before. I've always tried to seek out the best in people, to be honest, because it makes living in this country with all of the Games and death and sadness just a little bit easier to bear. If you find the good in people and show them the good they possess, it makes everyone a little happier. But right now, with the thought of those strange Capitol people simply paying for Finnick as a pleasurable prized possession and then putting him back on the shelf only for him to be used again like some communal toy, I can't even begin to feel any remorse for the terrible thoughts I'm thinking. Normally I would flinch away from such cruel words, but they explode into my head. I can't stand this. His pain. Even worse, knowing that I've blamed for so many years when I had no idea what was happening to him.

So many words bubble up to the surface of my tongue, willing them to spew out, but I hold them back. Nothing I say will make his pain go away. His situation is unparallel to anything I had ever imagined the Capitol capable of doing, and now I'm speechless, staring at my former best friend with a sense of genuine sympathy for what feels like the first time in forever. What he has gone through: it is unimaginable.

"Finnick…" I murmur, completely lost in those emerald eyes of his that are shining with a pain so palpable it's stifling. "I'm sorry," I say, my eyes wet and teary. I know I should not be crying; if anything, he is the one who should be upset. But I can't stop myself, knowing that we've wasted so many years apart when we both needed each other so badly. And now, my imminent death is only a few days away.

I start to shudder at that thought, the one of my inevitable demise, the fear pooling in my stomach and rising quickly, causing a shaky, cold nervousness to rack my body. I'll be gone soon, and after listening to Finnick tonight, my problems seem small and almost unimportant. Almost immediately, I know what I have to do.

It won't be easy. We both have lost each other over these past years, and regaining back that trust and easy, comfortable nature between us will be a difficult task. But it doesn't matter. He needs me, and even though I'll be gone soon, I need him too. It's almost funny how it's taken us all this time to realize that.

But what if I hurt him even more? What if these next few days we grow close again, and then I die? What would he do then? What if he gave up? What if I gave up? What if I was the reason he lost his desire to live? What if, what if, what if, what if…

I push these thoughts out of my head. _He's not that attached to you, Annie. Calm down. He's spent five years away from you without a hitch. These next few days aren't going to be some be-all-end-all for him. He has Mags, that Johanna girl from Seven he was talking to today…_

They'll only be everything to me, of course, considering these are the last few days of my life and the other fact that he's the only one here who truly understands me.

I've just made up my mind when he finally opens his eyes and peers at me to gauge my reaction. I wonder what he sees there. Suddenly, he looks like the young boy with the experienced hands, begging me to show him how to tie another knot, not the sexy, Capitol heartthrob who loves a different woman every single night. This one glance at him hardens my resolve to a solid, concrete determination, and so without another thought, I lean in and throw my arms around his neck, grasping his too-expensive, Capitol-made shirt tightly in my manicured hands. He smells exactly the same as he used to: salt and sun tan lotion, mingling together in a scent that instantly makes me feel at home, even though home is thousands of miles away.

He buries his face in my long, wind-whipped hair and we sit, wrapped around each other, holding on tight to keep from falling apart. I'm not sure how many minutes pass before I finally find my voice again.

"Finnick, I want to say this, and you will not interrupt me. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for every bad thought I've ever had about you these past five years. When I saw you turn into someone else, I became so… angry. I said bad things. I thought bad things. But most of all, I was just… so confused because I had lost my best friend. Now, all I want you to know is that I never really meant any of it. I just wanted my Finnick back. And now I know that it was never your fault at all that I couldn't' reach him. It was Snow's." My voice sounds unbearably sad, matching my heavy, poignant mood and causing a weighted pain to settle in my heart. But abruptly, while I'm mulling over my long-overdue apology, my cheeks start to tingle with a rosy pink as I realize what I just called him. _Mine_.

Finnick doesn't react to my use of the possessive word though, or at least he doesn't show it; he only strokes my hair and whispers, "I know, Annie. I know."

My cheeks are wet, and I realize I've been crying. Not for me, but for Finnick. For everything he's lost, for everything he's witnessed. His heartbreak at nineteen years is enough to last someone a lifetime. I'm blubbering now, awkwardly sobbing into the fabric of shirt, and all I can keep repeating is, "I'm sorry…. I should have known… I'm sorry…"

Eventually, Finnick's shoulder muscles relax as my crying turns into sniffling, and he turns his gaze on me abruptly, stunning me into silence with his liquid-green, ocean eyes. Out of everything about him, his eyes are the one thing that remain completely unchanged. Now, when I look into them, I see that same little boy, who still knows all my secrets and stories.

Finnick's irises are now completely serious, all traces of sadness somehow gone within moments. He's always had a gift for making a dark situation lighter with his unmistakably teasing eyes and witty humor, but now they aren't dark or pitiful: they're simply so… _real_, unlike the teasing, bright mask that he's always seemed to wear here in front of the cameras. He looks honest, like himself for once. "So," he whispers, putting his lips to my ear, "Are we friends now?" His warm breath tickles.

I make an attempt to roll my eyes, but he sees right through my fragileness. After his story, I can't seem to look at him without wanting to break down and cry for everything he's suffered.

"Hey, it's okay," he murmurs, "And I'll take that as a yes." He chuckles, his bright eyes twinkling with that contagious happiness. Now I can't stop smiling, my guilt momentarily forgotten, and I probably look like an idiot, but I don't care. He's smiling widely too, hands still resting on my shoulders. For so long, we've been apart. Now, I never want it to be that way again, even if we do have so little time left.

So I face my body out towards the city lights, leaning against the brick edge of the building and resting my head on Finnick's shoulder. This, _us,_ feels so natural and right in this moment that I don't ever want it to end. I can't even remember dinner two hours ago, when we sat only a table apart even though I felt worlds away from him. I was prepared to forget and never forgive him: now I've already let him back in.

I know I've been thinking it will be hard for Finnick and me to become friends again, but when he begins to stroke pieces of my hair back with his long fingers, I'm second-guessing myself. A friendship like ours, especially after all we've gone through, isn't one that can be marred by time or distance or heartbreak. It's too… _good_.

As I lay my head against his shoulder and his chin rests atop my head, it's as if we've never left each other. Our friendship is now starting up from right where it left off.

I've already become the girl from home again, his best friend. And when I feel his arm wrap protectively around my waist, my heart clenches and I know without a doubt, I've already, almost too eagerly, allowed him to reclaim my heart just as fully.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey friends! I'm back...**

**So it feels like forever since I've updated, but I've been really busy with work and finals coming up, so I haven't been able to invest myself in this story as much as I've wanted to of late. Updates will be coming more frequently soon though because I have a lot of things I'm looking forward to writing for this story, so yay :) Also, I originally planned to write this Chapter all in Finnick's point of view, but I wanted more detail concerning the training, so I turned to Annie for that. Don't worry: I'm planning on making the Games very detailed and written day by day, instead of glossing over them like I sort of did with the training.**

**And another point, like I said last chapter, I'm going to be waiting a good while and working on building up Annie and Finnick's relationship before something really happens between them ;) Evil, I know. But don't worry! The angst and craziness is coming!**

**Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter and have been having a lovely week. PLEASE REVIEW. I'd love to hear what you have to say. And I've been really stressed lately, so I could use the pick me up, whether you have something good or something constructive to say. I'll take anything :)**

**Anyway, enough with the rambling! Chapter 6!**

**Chapter 6: Long Ride**

**Finnick**

The next morning, the day of training begins, but I walk into the familiar dining area blissfully happy, despite the fact that just a mere hour ago I was sneaking out of some Capitol woman's home whose name I can't remember and slipping into that all-too-familiar, window-darkened limousine. To be honest, I don't remember the last time I've ever been this happy the morning after a night in the Capitol; hell, I don't even know if I've ever been this happy on this same train that takes me to and from the Games and Capitol year after year. She's changed my perspective on this situation entirely in one night. Those bright green eyes, kind and compassionate to a fault, give me a hope that maybe something does exist outside of this boring, worthless feeling that is the lifestyle I am forced to live because of the Capitol.

Now, I'm determined to protect her. I'm no longer just sad to watch my old best friend go, but hell-bent on her becoming the one to step out of that arena alive. After one impossibly vulnerable night, I've let her in so completely, and I know I can't let her go again. She's all I have, this girl who has so quickly become my best friend again. And now that I have her back, I'm not sure how I will live without her.

_You won't have to…_ I drill the thought over and over again in my mind, forcing myself to believe it. After all, I'm the one who can help ensure her survival more than anybody else besides Annie herself.

Last night, after we'd sat there for an immeasurable amount of time, I'd begun to realize that no matter how hard I tried to convince myself otherwise, I'm not over Annie. I want her friendship again. And although I can never really be allowed to have it, can never be worthy of a friend like her, I want to try. I can at least protect her and bring her home. After that, I'll make her realize she doesn't need me. I'm not good for her… I'm a monster, someone who's selfish and broken and scarred and used and so incapable of what knowing what real love is actually like that it's almost laughable. I care for Mags, love her even, but that's only because I simply fell into it with her after I'd won the Games, this old woman who seemed to care so much. And even then, Mags was the only one. I might have sit up in the control room late one night with Haymitch some years in order to distract myself, or harass Johanna about the fact that I'm more likeable than her, but really, even they know how much of a front I put up in front of my Capitol patrons. They just have the understanding to not say anything about it.

I've never actually told them what's happening to me. But they're aren't stupid. And I'm pretty sure they can guess.

There's light chatter at the breakfast table as Mags is slowly garbling at York, lecturing him about the importance of first building fires and finding water instead of hunting tributes. And even though I should be nodding in agreement and sharing some of my own advice, I'm only half-tuning into the conversation because I'm eyeing the door, waiting for Annie to walk in. And I'm not really even sure why.

"Where's Annie?" I blurt unthinkingly, forgetting momentarily that I haven't spoken any other words yet. Odiva's enhanced eyebrows shoot sky-high as she titters with apparent annoyance at my lack of manners, but LaBelle and Yvonne don't portray any emotion that's out the ordinary: they simply sit, politely and expectantly. I think they have grown to understand me a little better, at least realizing that I'm an actual human being and not a sex toy to be played with and then put back on some expensive, mahogany shelf. Sometimes I actually wonder if the Capitol's crazed women forget that. I think they do.

All of this running through my head at once, and I've completely ignored whatever LaBelle's just said. I saw her lips move, heard the buzz of her words hum into my ears, but I'm completely lost. She probably thinks I'm rude for ignoring her, but I don't know how to respond to make her think I was listening. She's patiently waiting for me to speak though, so I glance at Mags for an escape, who's merely staring at me with an impish smile. I'm on my own here.

"I'm sorry, LaBelle, what did you say? I must have been daydreaming," I concede, winking at her. She merely waves her hand, a smile on her surgically-enhanced face.

"Don't worry about it, dear Finnick. I was just saying I think she is still asleep. The poor girl must be tired after doing so, so, so well yesterday. We should probably knock on her door soon though. Have to eat a good breakfast to train well!" she chimes in a sing-song voice.

I smile, then rise from my seat, plate untouched. "I'll be back," I promise, kissing Mags on the cheek. "I'm gonna go wake up Annie." With that, I'm striding out the room, not even bothering to look back and see the expressions of confusion plastered on their faces.

I'm not really sure what I'm doing here.

This isn't weird, right? Going down the hall to her room? I mean, I'm her mentor, and we're sort of friends. I can come to her door to wake her up in the morning. This isn't weird. I'm doing this because I want her to be on time and train hard so that she can come to her family. To her younger brother, and to her old, wrinkled grandfather…

I knock on her door as I keep repeating those thoughts in my head, my voice light and teasing. "Good morning, Annie Cresta! Come, come!" I imitate LaBelle's high-pitched voice the best I can.

I receive no response, so I edge open her door. She's still asleep, her dark, tangled hair spread out over her pillow like sea foam. Even with her eyes closed, she still resembles my best friend. In sleep, it's easy to recognize the hint of kindness and understanding in her soft features by the way she has her hands gingerly pressed together near her stomach and the way her lips form into a dreamy, upward curve. She's perfect, and as memories of last night come swirling back, her resting against me up on the roof, I feel a sudden warmth in my face and tingling in the pit of my stomach.

What the hell? Johanna's right. I must be going crazy.

"Annie?" I whisper, softly. When she begins to stir, I hold back a laugh. Her eyes slowly rub open, and then she's looking at me so quizzically that it's almost comical.

"Fin?"

"Time to wake up, Sleeping Beauty! Training day!" I sing out sarcastically. She rolls her eyes good-naturedly and stretches, standing up and running a hand through her silky hair.

"All right then," she agrees, following me out the door. "I'm coming." But I can see the fear in her wide, green irises. And before I know it, the comforting words are slipping out of my mouth, my hand reaching for her skin, as I try to find the words to say to pull her through this.

"Hey," I murmur, catching her chin as she reaches my side. Now, her eyes are on mine. "You'll do great. Trust me. You have this in you, Annie."

Her bright eyes look doubtful, but she whispers back, "Okay."

Back in the dining area, Mags' eyes widen then easily compose themselves as soon as she notices my hand on the small of Annie's back, guiding her towards the table. I roll my eyes at her obvious shock, even though Annie's skin feels like fire against mine. I'm trying to ignore the way my hand itches to wrap around hers, but it's taking a lot more effort than I would have expected. We're just friends. Always have been, and now that we're actually speaking to each other again, I have to remember that things can't be the way they used to be. When we were kids, I would hold her hand all the time, but only because I'd want to warm her up if she was cold or steady her balance when she was nervous on the first day of school. In a way, I guess I've never really been able to kick that desire to protect her from anything and everything. She's just too _fragile_.

LaBelle's mouth is hanging open and then she's smiling so widely and laughing so suddenly that she looks a little bit manic, almost like those mentally unstable patients they show on stupid Capitol dramas.

I know this gesture means nothing; it's just an expression of Annie and I's friendship. But clearly the others at the table aren't having that.

York looks shocked, his eyes bugged, while Odiva's eyes are trained on my hands as if they are the saving grace of this world. Annie's cheeks are bright pink, and I inwardly smile. She notices the others' uncomfortable stares too.

"What?" I ask, purring seductively and batting my eyelashes at Odiva, the only one naïve enough to succumb to my charming antics. "I understand that you can't help staring at me, but it's a little too intense for Annie here. She isn't used to being around my amazingly good looks."

Odiva looks away quickly and giggles, and I think I might see a tear in her eye. I want to laugh. Is she actually that upset because she thinks the famous Finnick Odair prefers someone else over her romantically?

The unmistakable gleam in her eyes when she finally returns to scarfing down her eggs tells me yes, she is.

XXX

Training is slow-going. Annie's only really an expert at tying knots, so I tell her to read up on edible plants since that will probably be her sole source of food, considering she can't hunt. She does as I say, and comes back every night, finally relaying every last detail after I rail her about it endlessly. Once I finally know she's done explaining all she's done that day and that she hasn't given up, I'll take her into my arms and hug her before letting her slip off to bed. I think we both need the comfort, and I can tell that training is taking a toll on her. She doesn't like to be surrounded by these people who are so ready to kill her, people that are so different than who she is. I've especially heard brutal things about the monstrous boy from District One, a hot-headed ass named Gavin, whose apparently already been reprimanded several times for fighting with other tributes during training and attempting to stab an instructor who accidentally miscounted his knives.

Annie hasn't interacted with really any of the tributes though and clearly isn't a part of the Career pack like York. I've inquired him about training once just to seem interested, even though Mags insisted on mentoring him because she, just like she always does, somehow knew that I'd want to stay with Annie before I even knew that myself. In that one conversation York and I had though, he told me enough for the understanding to sink in that he's teamed up with One and Two, all probably extremely skilled killing machines.

After the training scores are released, York with a nine and Annie with a five, I'm not surprised. But a five is at least something. Better than a four. Guess all those knots we tied as kids finally paid off. I whisper into Annie's ear that a five is good, that we can work with a five, and LaBelle just gazes at us as if we are the most adorable thing she's ever seen on this earth.

I hold back a laugh. Right, I _wish._ And the confusing thing is, I actually do.

I know Annie has already easily morphed back into my best friend. We talk every night about things we miss about home and stories from these past five years that we haven't shared together. We spend night after night on the roof, talking in whispers and wrapped around each other, rememorizing the other. She talks about the time she fell out of my dad's boat while I laugh at the story of her throwing seashells at my house repeatedly when I wouldn't wake up one morning during a stormy summer that feels like lifetimes ago. Nothing more happens, but every time she touches me my heart beats faster and my skin feels tingly, a good kind of fire spreading from the pit of my stomach out to the very tips of my being. I never remember her touch eliciting these kinds of feelings back when I knew her before the games, but then again, I was too naïve back then.

It doesn't matter though. Every night, she gets a little closer. But every time she does, I make sure to stay a safe distance away. I can tell that she already trusts me implicitly again. When she leans in closer as I'm telling a story, or the way she sighs so softly when her head meets the place right over my heart… She's not separated from me anymore, and the more we dig into each other's lives, the more I find my own brain trying to warn itself about the dangers of becoming too close to her.

One night, she's describing how much her younger brother Flynn idolizes me when all I can suddenly focus on is the way her voice wraps around my name, a caress that floats smoothly and seamlessly off of her plush, pink lips. It sounds almost… reverent, and I'm automatically disgusted because someone so sweet and good like her should never be associated with an idiotic ass like me. She shouldn't want to be friends with me. She should realize that she's getting herself involved with the wrong person, and step away. But the strange thing is, even though I know that's what I should want her to realize, I don't want her to.

On the day before the Games, when the three days of training are finally over and interview day rolls around, we are all eating a large breakfast of waffles and fruits and glazed meats before the tributes begin preparations for tonight. This is the one day they _have_ to do right, despite what others might say about the importance of the chariot rides and training scores. They have to be winning and show the sponsors exactly who they are and why they deserve support. Which usually requires a pretty kick-ass approach to their public reputation, which was thankfully easy as breathing with Annie. She's naturally caring, a softhearted and soft-spoken person, but it doesn't register as a weakness when she speaks: it sounds undeniably sweet with a very subtle, underlying strength about it. She won't have to fabricate some ridiculous image like I did.

I just hope the sponsors buy into her sweet, well-mannered appearance as well. After all, they really don't know her like I do.

As we finish the meal, York looks overconfident and smug as usual, while Annie is quiet, sweet, and calculating. There's a nervousness tainting her sea-green eyes, but it's understandable.

"Remember," I say as I'm standing up, preparing myself to leave to chat up sponsors in the auditorium who arrive ridiculously early and wait hours for the interviews to air. "Be yourself and be winning. They'll love you both." I don't necessarily agree with the part about all these emotional Capitol freaks adoring York, but that's beside the point. And it's probably just because I'd really love to kick his arrogant ass all the way back to District 4. He will get sponsors, but not for his kindness or amazing personality; he'll most likely gain attention because of his brutal weaponry skills and Career status. I shake his hand and then Annie is standing up, her small frame pressed against mine as she loops her arms around my waist, squeezing me tightly.

For her, I lean my chin down and whisper in her ear, "You'll be great, Cresta. Don't worry. I'm rooting for you." She giggles a little and then steps away, blushing as I tuck a stray lock of hair back into place behind her ear. York's eyebrows are raised as LaBelle instructs them to hurry so that she can begin to teach her annual class on proper etiquette and confident poise. That's my signal to head out. Don't want to be stuck listening to LaBelle's lectures on how to smile and present a sure attitude using a _"sturdy yet sexy"_ walk. I smile at the image of Annie cringing as LaBelle critiques her on the art of walking in high heels: Annie's always been a little clumsy, or at least she used to be.

I call out a goodbye to the others and lope away; slyly avoiding the mob of girls that usually waits outside the front door to the Training Center, screaming my name at all hours of the day. It just makes it easier to convince these rich and willing strangers to love this kind, beautiful tribute of mine that's more than deserving of it when there's not a million other girls hanging onto my every word and fighting for the same attention that really will never be theirs.

If only they could realize that.

**Annie**

My breathing is accelerated.

The room is large and dominated by steel metal, my footsteps echoing like rain against a tin roof. It sounds ominous, almost like a very doomed march to my certain death. Which ironically, it is.

I've tried to get sleep this past night, but it hasn't worked. The looming thought of training is making me sick. I don't want to talk to anyone at all… I simply want to sit at a knot-tying station with a nice, helpful instructor and lose myself in the woven, repeated pattern of the twine, forgetting all my worries as I focus on the simple _loop, pull, twist_….

But I know that isn't what Finnick or Mags would want me to do. They want me to learn new things that could benefit me in the arena, so I know that I should listen to them. A tall woman named Atala begins droning on as I stand frozen in place, a few feet away from the other tributes that I'm trying to avoid. Being so close to the people that in just a few days are all going to be trying to kill each other… it makes my heart lurch in strange, anxious ways.

"The session will begin now."

These words snap me out of my reverie, and I quickly scurry away from the large, loose circle of tributes. I'm sure I must look stupid and weak, but at the moment, I don't care. Quietly and quickly, I find a small station with a tiny instructor who helps me over and over again as I continually fail to start a fire with the flaky piece of flint.

Once my patience has run out and I've only managed to elicit a few sparks against the rock, I sigh and smile sadly at the instructor, hoping he understands that I want to move on. I spend the rest of the day viewing different edible plants, which is thankfully a much easier task than trying to start a fire.

The days blur together as I spend all my time trying to learn new information, anything that might help improve my already-slim chances of survival. Finnick makes me ramble on about my progress in training every night after dinner, so at least I have some motivation to keep trying. If anything, it's for him.

Always for him.

I sigh, wondering why despite everything that has happened to me in this past week, a simple boy that used to be my best friend from home can't seem to escape my thoughts.

I cannot begin to let Finnick in again. I' m going to be gone in a few days.

He tries to convince me otherwise; reminds me of my family and friends that I should pull through for, but as much as I want to believe him, I know that even my best won't be enough. I'm not cut out for this. The best I can hope for is to die with some shred of dignity left, and hopefully with as little pain as possible, that way my little brother won't be forced to watch my suffering.

I'm so scared.

Night after night, after I slink back down to my room from the rooftop, I retreat into my room only to be assaulted with terrible nightmares of the Games that my mind has conjured up. Burning desert, frozen arctic, a vast expanse of city ruins. It all makes my veins run cold with fear.

I wonder what Finnick does to cope with the nightmares he must constantly battle.

But then again, at night, when he leaves, he's probably not doing much sleeping anyway.

That feeling of absolute horror at all that he's endured riddles my stomach with holes as I fight the urge to go find him now, in the dark, even though he's probably off at some hotel farther away from the City Circle, kissing a stranger's pair of lips. I don't know why, but I can't imagine Finnick in a place so foreign, doing something he so badly doesn't want to. I just wish there was a way I could comfort him.

But there's not. The Capitol always wins, and right now, there's nothing I can do for him.

So I simply endure my training, eat my meals, and perfect my appearance, so that soon, all of this will be over, and that just maybe I'll be able to eventually do something for my old best friend, my mentor, the man who's lost so much and gained so little, all for the sake of a game.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

It's not until later when I'm waiting for Annie's appearance on stage while simultaneously batting off a clingy Capitol woman that my own nerves begin to settle in.

Ever since this morning, I have been here, meeting various important names and charming my way into sponsorships for my tributes, particularly Annie. Everyone seems willing to sacrifice their money for the stunning, kind girl from 4 even though her training score wasn't all that great. And I can tell the other tributes hate her already because they realize her public image isn't an act at all. It's who she is, and that's what I love about seeing her tonight. She doesn't have to try as hard to impress and pretend like I did. She can be herself: a little funny, compassionate, and so undeniably empathetic that everyone around her relates without her even meaning for them to. She's magic.

But no matter how anxious I am to gauge the audience's reaction to her, I can't get over the fact that tomorrow; she's going to be put in that hell. And whether, she knows it or not, I'm going in with her too.

I hate that I have to watch. I don't want to see her die…

_Stop, Finnick. You will see her again. You can make her come home. _I try to reassure myself by uttering these sweet nothings, but by the time the interviews are in full swing and District One's ditzy blonde is trying to sex her way through the audience's heart, I feel a hyperventilating anxiety swirl in the pit of my stomach. And the obnoxious girl standing up onstage, giggling and trying to show off her barely-there, diamond studded body suit is not helping my calm. If anything, I'm resisting the urge to laugh at her exaggerated attempts. Then again, everything the Capitol does is exaggerated.

Suddenly, before I have time to register it, I hear the crowd chanting _her _name, Caesar Flickerman's loud gasp as he reacts to her most likely stunning ensemble, and mentors' whispers around me. Everyone loves her already, but not as much as I do. No one knows her like me.

And after all these years of friendship and silence and reconciliation, it seems completely unfair that after everything that's happened, it could amount to nothing.

She deserves so much better.

Suddenly, I feel such a burning, heated loathing for the Capitol, a stronger hate than I've ever felt before, that it makes my eyes see red and my hands clench into fists. I hate anyone and everything that had something to do with this. This girl, the girl with the dark, chocolate hair and fragile heart, deserves to live this life. For me, it was different. When I went into the Games, they changed me. After those few weeks, _I_ changed. I wasn't good; I didn't deserve life anymore than the twenty three other people that had come into that arena with me. And I've known ever since that day I stood on that platform of the train that returned to District 4 that I wasn't worth it. That I was bad. I've always known that.

But she's not. And she deserves so much more. Even if she does come out of this thing alive, she'll never be the same. She'll never be truly bad or callous like I became, but she'll be scarred. She'll be scared. She'll be… _sad_.

An image of Annie's beautiful, bright green eyes slowly dulling into a haunting, dead sea gray assaults my mind now, and I try to focus on anything else. Which thankfully isn't that hard because Annie's standing front and center, elevated above the audience, gingerly taking her place on the plush, ornate seat.

She's looking for me, searching for my face in the sea of people. When our eyes lock, hers' melt a little and she laughs shyly, saying something that I don't catch, probably to Caesar.

All I'm looking at are those eyes, sea-green like the ocean and warm like the sun, inviting me into her heart while almost everyone else stays locked out.

And I don't care what people are muttering under their breaths when they see my unwavering gaze transfixed on her. I don't care what Caesar says about the 'lovely Finnick Odair' and how millions of girls are probably crying right now because they think their Finnick's fallen for pretty little Annie Cresta.

They can think whatever they want, but they don't know a thing about me.

Because if anyone in this audience really truly knew me, they'd know that I'll never let myself fall in love.

**Annie**

This is quickly becoming too chaotic and too overwhelming for my anxious conscience to absorb. Everything over the course of this past week has been a whirlwind. The reaping with the heart-wrenching goodbyes that still make me cringe at the thought of them, the parade, the hopeless training… Add this- an interview in front of the entire nation of Panem that probably means almost everything to my life or death in that arena- to my ever-increasing list of things to stress about.

But I can almost handle all of these scary, foreign situations that the Games have put me in. The one thing on my mind that I cannot handle, the one thing that has been keeping me up at night and forcing me to think of things other than my imminent death, is something so unimportant yet everything in my current situation that it's ridiculous.

Finnick Odair is something I can't handle.

Our relationship isn't something I know how to approach. Sure, I was best friends with him for half of my life, but how can I forget the look on his face when he coldly stalked past me in the halls, looking at anything but me? How can I forget the fact that he was the one who pushed me away? I can't. Of course, I did think of other things at times, my few friends or my family keeping me occupied. But if I was being honest with myself, I had never once had a single crush to prattle on about my friends with. Was that because of Finnick? When I was still friends with Finnick, I thought of him as my loving, annoying brother. When that changed and we didn't talk anymore, I saw the way other girls looked at him. The way _Panem_ looked at him. He had matured after the Games, losing that boyish roundness and filling out with a desirable, muscled body, not to mention learning to showcase his unparalleled charm and wits.

Of course I noticed that. After knowing him for so long, he was bound to catch my eye, even if we were no longer friends. It wasn't until after I lost access to him that I realized just how much I wanted him back.

I didn't want the sexy, seductive, Capitol-esque Finnick though. I wanted my Finnick. The Finnick with the ocean eyes who laughed while he speared fish and chased me around with seaweed. The Finnick who willingly gave me mouth to mouth recessitation when I was twelve after I fell out of his boat into deep water and panicked. Since then, I'd stared at him countless times in the hall and secretly wondered if my best friend was still inside of this expensive-looking, newly-toned body. Now he's a man, nineteen and still as charming as ever, but these past few nights on the roof have made me come to a conclusion of sorts. He has changed, but not in a bad way. Of course, after the Games and losing his family, he can't be the exact same happy-go-lucky boy I spent all my time with on the beach. But he didn't exactly turn out to be the famous Capitol womanizer I imagined him as either. Well, he was, but only because he had to be.

Always pretending.

That thought makes me sick to my stomach.

All these years I've blamed him for pushing me away, and he did it to keep me _safe_. I almost can't believe it. How was I so blind? How did I not know what was happening? I should have tried harder. I should have known something was wrong and forced him to tell me. I should have made him let me back in…

"Annie, are you all right, darling?" Yvonne asks quietly. As my stylist, she is from the Capitol, but I love her. Something about her soft spoken nature and kindness sets her aside from the rest of these colored, bejeweled puppets and makes her more real, a person rather than some Games-obsessed fan in Capitol garb.

I'm snapped out of my daze in an instant. _Focus, Annie. Stop thinking about Finnick. You can't mess this up._"I'm good," I assure her, nervously tucking a piece of my loosely curled hair behind my ear. She smiles genuinely and squeezes my hand, which she holds lightly as we wait for my name to be called. Here backstage it is dim-lit and reeks of a familiar, rose-scented perfume that makes my temples throb. In my opinion, the smell of salt and brine is much more appealing. It's much more natural.

I suck in a deep breath, trying to imagine my nostrils curling with the familiar scent of the ocean instead of this phony, Capitol perfume. It doesn't work.

"You look beautiful," Yvonne murmurs quietly.

My prep team practically flies across the small space, too-wide smiles plastered on their ridiculous faces. "Ah Annie! You are pefect! I love the waterfall theme, yes? It brings out that nice delicate shape of yours, doesn't it?" On they ramble until suddenly Dreeda, her purple tattoos glinting in the soft light, shrieks, "Oh, we can't forget the finishing touch!"

She steps forward, uncapping a small lipstick and swiping it across my mouth, then finally sealing the waxy, nude color with a shimmery gloss. It feels a little sticky and uncomfortable, but I resist the urge to lick my lips, feeling too guilty to undo my prep team's hard work. I know they mean well.

I'm dressed in a silvery-blue floor length gown that cascades down my body as if it was meant to hang there. The flowing material has flecks of green in it that bring out my eyes, which are ringed in smoky makeup and give the impression of a watery mist. My skin is dewy and bronze, while the hair I normally leave naturally wavy is shaped into cascading curls that whisper down my back. I resemble a walking waterfall, and I have to admit that I do feel beautiful. Not necessarily like myself with all this makeup on, but beautiful all the same.

Suddenly, I see the boy from District Three exit to the left and I freeze. I'm about to air live on every single television in Panem. Can I do it? Be winning so that sponsors will see me as worthy of their support?

I think of Finnick's words. _Smile. Be charming. Be the kind, beautiful girl they see you as. _

My thoughts twist around his face, boyish and charming yet sensitive and sweet, and I'm even more distracted. Because now I'm thinking of those liquid, sea-foam tainted eyes instead of my soon-to-be very public appearance on national television.

Since when have I ever let Finnick Odair have such an unwavering hold on my every thought like this?

Caesar calls my name out in a happy, booming trill, and I emerge, trying to remember what Odiva instructed about walking tall and confidently, shoulders back and legs straight. I smile sweetly and bat my eyelashes, trying to emanate that beautiful, kind air. I feel a little self-conscious and a little worried that I'm not convincing enough. I start to panic, hoping that my face doesn't betray my bluff. Of course Mags assured me that I wouldn't have to try at all to be nice, but being beautiful and humble and caring even though I'm about to be sick with nerves? It's a hard thing to accomplish.

I need an anchor, something to calm me down. I rack my brain, and then suddenly, I'm searching for him. My eyes frantically scan the crowd until they lock on those liquid orbs that remind me of home and my family and everything that I'll be able to have if I pull this off. Finnick smiles, his eyes encouraging and almost pleading in a way, and I know I could never deny that face. So, with renewed confidence, I face Caesar and smile, greeting the screaming fans of the Capitol with a shy wave. Unfortunately, Caesar catches me staring at Finnick for a little bit longer than would be normally acceptable, just as I'm finally composing myself.

"Ah!" he squeals cheekily. "Staring at the lovely, Finnick Odair, are you? None of us blame you, dear Annie! He's absolutely breathtaking! Isn't he, folks?" Caesar laughs and I hear several Capitol women shriek in agony, as if just the thought of Finnick Odair's beautiful face causes them an emotional pain too great to keep to themselves. I resist the urge to frown slightly, wondering which of the women in this room have deliberately agreed to use Finnick for their own pleasure.

"He _is_ something," I agree with Caesar, quickly brushing off my slight disgust with the women's Finnick-crazed eyes. I let my cheeks burn a little in real embarrassment, which I hope adds nicely to my presentation of a shy, sweet girl. "But he's been very helpful. I'm grateful to have him." I keep my voice quiet, and now I'm actually blushing. If only those girls out in the audience knew just how grateful I was to have Finnick's arms wrapped around me every night before bed… But I halt my thoughts, remembering that I shouldn't want these girls to feel jealous. Finnick doesn't know them. So they shouldn't matter, right? And why should I be jealous in the first place? He's not mine.

Caesar nods in agreement. "Well, yes. He is indeed. And Annie, I must say, you look absolutely stunning. Like a waterfall, here in the middle of our lovely stage! Have you enjoyed all of these new luxuries of the Capitol?"

I giggle lightly. "Thank you, Caesar. I have enjoyed it here, but if I'm being honest, I'm not all that comfortable in a lot of makeup and fancy dresses like this one, even though they are beautiful. I prefer the sea."

The audience _ooos _at my truthful answer while Caesar simply smiles. "Ah, who doesn't love a caring, down-to-earth girl? All too adorable, Annie Cresta! Now, tell us, what is it you love about the sea?"

I think for a moment, deciding to answer with the truth again. "I love the way it feels like home, Caesar. Of course, everyone in the Capitol has been so welcoming, but something about the ocean is just so… pure. I collect white seashells at home all the time to make a little extra money for my family, and they always remind me of the beach. Now, looking back on it, I wish I would have brought one with me as a token, just something to hold onto."

"Ah, yes, too bad," Caesar murmurs understandably. "But I think that now you will be receiving quite a few shells as gifts from your adoring fans, of course! You'll probably have a plethora of tokens! Listen to those screams!" The Capitol audience cheers in concurrence.

I muster a genuine smile as Caesar asks me about my family, but when I respond all I can think of is Finnick and those words I said to him on the beach all those years ago, about white seashells being innocent and pure. I wonder if he remembers that conversation now….

Pulling me out of my train of thought, Caesar rises and grasps me into a tight, warm hug. "Best of luck to you, Annie Cresta! District Four!"

The crowd's cheers seem deafening, so I take that as a good sign. I slowly walk off stage, allowing myself one last glance at the bright lights and the nervous, excitable air that the audience pours onto the stage. But as I'm about to step off and descend to once again sit beside York, I meet Finnick's eyes, and he gives me a subtle thumbs up. He's smiling, but there's something else about his face that seems… out of place.

Once I'm out of Finnick's sight and York praises my performance, it suddenly dawns on me.

He does remember that conversation on the beach so many years ago. He remembers our argument about the white seashells I love so much. The way his eyes lit with that subtle understanding… it's a look I've seen many times throughout the years when Fin and I have seemed to simply understand each other, always shooting the other knowing glances. And now, with both of us reminiscing about that day when we bickered over the pureness of my white seashells, it suddenly feels like we are five years old again.

The smile won't leave my face throughout the rest of the program and even as I'm led out to a waiting car after the interviews end, it's still plastered there. I don't even register the air of excitement around me as my prep team chatters on while the darkened windows of the limousine shield my eyes from the white lights of the camera flashes. All I can focus on is him. In that moment, Finnick's eyes had seemed to shine with something different than their usual teasing, easy friendliness. It was almost an understanding, a kind of desperate gaze that made me feel like we shared something that no one else could.

After all these years, Finnick and I are still desperately twined together, through our memories, through our homes, even through our nearly identical green irises.

And for some reason, I like that thought much more than I should.


	8. Chapter 8

**HI LOVES! So anyway, it's summer! Yay! That means no finals or stress about homework, which is the best. As a little happy celebration, and a weird and not-related-to-the-theme-of-Memorial-Day-at-all Memorial Day gift (that hopefully makes you happy), here is Chapter 8. Annie's games are going to be hashed out in Chapter 9 and mainly 10 (because I have a little spiel for 9 planned out), so stick with me! Chapter 10 will probably be a big one considering I want to have an in-depth experience with Annie's Games but plan to end them in Chapter 10. So, that one will probably be a long one that I'll try to work really hard on for you guys. Anyway, nine is done (all I have to do is edit it), so I might even put it up sometime tonight just because I'm really excited for everything this story is going to be delving into during the Games and especially after. Lastly, PLEASE tell me your thoughts! Feel free to PM me or review this story with any comments, questions, suggestions, etc. :) I love it when I get to hear from you guys; it means worlds to me. **

**Enjoy! And don't forget that you're beautiful! **

**Chapter 8: Before it All**

_Get a hold of yourself, Finnick._

Why am I falling apart? Why can't I just let her go? She's going into that arena tomorrow, and I'd be fooling myself if I denied that almost all, actually no, _all_ of the tributes in the pool are probably better-skilled and better-trained than she is. And even if she had been able to transform herself into a strong, brutal survivor, I still don't think she'd ever be able to murder anyone. She's too kind, too caring. I can't imagine her frail, compassionate heart bearing the weight of a murder, or let alone something like these Games. Hell, I've never really even come to terms with the fact that I've purposely stolen people's futures and scarred their family members by killing their children, and it's been five years.

I repeat the same trivial ramblings in my head, trying to ingrain them into the very muscles of my tired brain. It's two in the morning, but I still feel wired. My roof seems ominous tonight, the dark clouds swirling overhead, almost like a dreadful reminder of the hell that will begin tomorrow. I cringe at the thought of sitting in that clean, sterile space, eyes glued to the screen, desperate as the gong sounds. I can't imagine it. It's hard enough with children you've never met before, knowing they'll most likely die. Watching Annie in the arena, the girl who I've just reconnected with, my best friend? The thought makes me want to escape into a dark, reclusive corner far away from the Capitol and dry heave, getting rid of the heavy breakfast that is now an uncomfortable weight in my stomach. If she dies, I have no one closer to me. I've told her everything about me, and with her gone the comfort of having a best friend who understands my pain dies too.

_Let her go, Finnick. She won't make it. Why can't you just be thankful to have befriended her again? You've lived without her before… You have Mags._

But was I really living before she came into my life, or just merely surviving? And Mags is the one person left on this planet who actually, genuinely cares for me and I for her. But a beautiful seventeen year old friend like Annie and eighty-year-old motherly figure like Mags are two different things completely.

All of these thoughts beat around my tormented mind, blocking out all rationality. I know I care for her, much more than I should. But I'd be lying if I said I expect her to be the one to walk out of that arena alive. Annie's too good for these Games, too pure and innocent and beautiful. I should just be happy I've gained her friendship back after shutting her out for so long. That should be enough to allow me to let go and watch her tragic story play out across the live television screens of Panem. But it isn't.

I've let myself slowly let her in again without fully realizing it, and now it's too late. I care too much, and I can't let her go. I want to do everything in my willpower to bring her back, no matter what those blinking screens that display Annie's odds of winning in the Training Center reveal. I know she can do this. I just have to have faith in her.

Once I've come to this conclusion, that I can help Annie and do as much as possible to bring her home, I almost feel guilty, finally focusing on something other than my gut-wrenching anxiety. I'm pacing my roof worrying myself sick while she's probably in bed terrified, focused on the outcome of her fate tomorrow. She's the one going into the arena, not me.

I turn to slink back down the stairs, to return to Annie's compartment and check on her. She's not there. Instead, I hear low voices that seem to be coming from an almost-muted television and walk in to the sitting room, preparing to say something witty about the late hour, only to be silenced. Annie's long, luscious hair is draped over the back of the velvet couch and her tiny, fragile hands are gripped around a mug of some steaming liquid, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She looks beautiful. She looks terrified. She looks like _Annie_. Everything I've grown to know about this fragile girl sitting here seems to fit perfectly with the haunted look and beautifully innocent frown that she's wearing right now.

I don't know if she realizes I'm here or not, so I make my footfalls louder as I approach the couch.

She starts a little and peers back at me, her brilliant eyes glowing, even though they are ringed in dark circles that seem to accentuate the heart wrenching fear etched into her features. "Fin?"

I smile at her lips forming my name. "Hey, Annie Bananie."

Despite her obvious anxiety, she rolls her eyes a little. "That nickname needs to go," she mutters sadly, shaking her head as if it's the worst thing she's ever heard.

"I like it," I say simply, plopping on the couch beside her. For awhile, we say nothing; we just stare at the sheeting rain as it glints against the lights of the city framed by the large window. Suddenly, this conversation suddenly seems like maybe the last time I'll really be able to talk to her, my best friend. The thought kills me.

"Say something," I beg suddenly, my voice desperate. Her eyes widen, so I add softly, "This isn't our last night together, I know, but I can't help but feel like it is. So just say something so I know this is real. I want to talk to you while I still can."

Annie smiles simply, giving my shoulder a small squeeze as she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. Her face grows thoughtful before she speaks. "I'm glad we found each other again, Finnick. I needed this before these Games."

I nod, my heart flying at her words. "Me too," I murmur quietly into the peaceful dark of the room. "I bet you were surprised when your name was called that day at the reaping. If I had been you, I'd probably have been dreading it just because I'd have to see me again after I was a total asshole and-"

"Finnick."

"I'm serious, Annie, I…"

"And I'm serious," she cuts me off, that mature tone saturating her voice. "I don't hold you to anything that's happened during these years. It wasn't your choice. You were broken. End of discussion. But you are right in a way," her voice grows softer and her eyes flit to mine. When I raise my eyebrows in question, she giggles and continues.

"I was terrified to see you again. I really was. After the initial shock, you were on my mind. But I tried not to show that, of course." I remember the way she avoided my gaze on the reaping stage. "When Pearl came to visit me, after she cried her poor eyes out of course, she had to end on a light note. That's just her, trying to make a terrible situation seem a little brighter. So she mentioned you. Something like a, 'So, word on the street is that Finnick Odair is a mentor and is all over Annie Cresta'." She laughs again, but I can't help but notice how ironically true the words are. Did her family and friends notice my staring at her that day? Do they think I have feelings for her now?

Annie's words distract me from my rambling once again. "Lana, she was beside herself. She just kept sobbing, but at the end of her visit, she did tell me she wanted to say hi to you."

I smile at that. "I always liked Lana," I mutter nostalgically. "She talked to me sometimes at school, when she thought I was having a rough time. Would just ask me how I was, even though I treated you like crap. I wonder what she thought about that."

Annie sighs now, a quiet one that escapes her plush, pink lips. "I guess we'll never know."

"Don't say that," I insist, sounding more demanding than I mean to. "I just—you can do this, Annie."

"Okay, Fin," she concedes, repeating the same thing she said a few days back. Sitting here, I am reminded of her long weeks ahead and realize I should let her either think or sleep in peace. I rise, slowly looking down at her with remorse. I'd wasted five years without her. What the hell had I been thinking? I would give anything to be home right now with her in my arms, on our beach right next to the Victor's Village, the wind whipping her hair and tickling my skin. Now, it's too late.

That seems to be the repeated, thematic phrase of this night, even this entire trip that started when Annie entered that train compartment with me just a mere few days ago that for some reason feels like lifetimes.

It seems to always be too late.

Finally, I say goodnight, promising her I'll see her tomorrow in the morning and then head up to my roof again. But it's only a matter of time before I find myself slinking back down to check on her, to make sure she's handling the night okay. I remember how scary sleep the night before can be.

I tell myself that if she's asleep, I won't disturb her. A good night's sleep is precious the night before the Games begin. If she's awake though, I can keep her company and try to make her feel better about tomorrow. Selfishly, I'm almost hoping for the latter. I want to see her again.

Her door is shut tightly, so I ease it open, peering in while trying to block the dim light in the hallway from leaking into her room. Her face, I notice, is peaceful. Just like when we were kids and she would fall asleep as we laid on the couch and listened to my father tell us stories of sea voyages, her jaw slackens and her breathing evens into a peaceful lull, which tells me she's asleep. As I near her bed, I notice the sheen of sweat on her forehead and realize that she's probably only just recently gotten to bed. I'm impressed that she's even been able to fall asleep on a night like this, but then again, by the way her cheeks gleam in the dark room, it looks like she probably just cried herself into oblivion.

Her soft, mahogany hair is tangled on the lush pillow and her cheeks look fuller somehow than they did mere hours ago, the perfect planes of her face completely smooth. There's no moon tonight, just stormy, brewing air that whispers into her compartment through the slightly ajar window. I shiver at the slightly cool breeze, my body still standing at the side of Annie's bed. I know I should leave, that my being in her room like this without her permission seems wrong, but I can't bear to carry my feet out the door. I want to protect her, and more importantly, if she wakes up, I want her eyes to be searching for _my _face and her lips to be saying_ my_ name. I want her to need me just like I desperately need her. So without much other thought about what I'm doing entails, I carefully slide in and lower myself back against the pillow, hands awkwardly splayed against my stomach as Annie's breath slightly hitches. I freeze and keep my gaze locked on her soft eyelids, praying that she won't wake up and see me here. Thankfully, after a few moments, she relaxes into the sheets again and mumbles something unintelligible. I sigh in relief, and then settle myself in for the night.

Slowly, despite how intrusive and pretty damn creepy I feel, I decide to spend these last few moments I have with Annie memorizing parts of her I've never had cause to notice much before. The perfect line of her high cheekbones, the delicate and rosy flush of her cheeks, the way her brows softly curve into a perfect arch. I study the shape of her full lips, the way they twitch slightly as she breathes. Most of all though, I notice the light-as-dust sprinkling of freckles across her bronze skin. I've never noticed them until now, but once I see them, I can't look away. They are a slight pink, dusty hue and trail over her nose and a little onto her cheeks. Here in the dark room that's almost completely empty of moonlight, the freckles seem strangely beautiful to me, as if they tell a hidden story of this mesmerizingly beautiful, sleeping girl.

Instinctively, I reach my hand out to brush her freckles. Where my fingers come in contact with her skin, I feel a tingly burn emanate from my hands all the way out to the very tips of my being. She's perfect, laying here in the seemingly-alive darkness. All the words I've held back throughout these years bubble to the tip of my tongue, just begging my mouth to form the syllables, but I hold back. I don't want to taint the perfect stillness with my tired voice, and those words won't matter anyway if she can't hear them.

But what happens next shocks me.

One moment I'm lying there on the bed, softly trailing my fingers across her face, when the next I'm staring into her radiant emerald irises.

"Finn?" she asks in a small, sleepy voice.

She sounds so innocent that my heart clenches as I conjure up the horrible imaginings she will have to face over these next weeks.

"Yeah?" I murmur, trying to hide my embarrassment with a little smile and ruffle of her hair.

"What are you doing here?"

_Great_, I think to myself. _Just the question I didn't want to have to answer_.

"I couldn't sleep," I say lamely. Hopefully, my semi-true excuse is believable.

Her eyes are confused, but I swear I see the hint of a smile playing on her lips.

"Okay," she says simply, scooting closer and burying her face into my chest. Her silken hair drapes across me and I inhale the fragrance of it, sweet yet extremely natural smelling. It mingles with the breeze and floats into my nostrils, allowing me to relax and slowly forget my fears about tomorrow. I want to live in this moment with her, with my Annie, before the hellish reality of the morning seeps into my consciousness. And with her arms wrapped tightly around my waist as my fingers delicately stroke her hair, I do just that.


	9. Chapter 9

**As promised, here is Chapter 9, updated right after Chapter 8 since I had already written it and just had to edit. Hope you like it! I'm very attached to this one, guys. And SO excited for what's to come! As always, tell me your thoughts!**

**Have a great week. Don't forget to tell people you love them.**

**Chapter 9: Finnick**

That night, when I finally allow myself to succumb to sleep, I dream about her.

_I'm standing beside Annie's house that's next to my old one, the one I lived in before I moved to the Victor's Village. It's about two years after the Games and I'm sixteen. I haven't been ignoring Annie though because we're still best friends. I told her I needed her after the Games and she's stayed ever since. My love for her feels so immediate and real, like I might combust if I don't tell her just how much I need her very soon. I pick up two beautiful white seashells and haphazardly toss them at her window. I used to always feel cliché when I did this before the Games, almost like I was Prince Charming come to throw rocks at her window, but it was the only way we could communicate so that she'd know I wanted her to come outside. Usually, the louder the stones were against her window the more important the matter was._

_ Tonight, the shells are extremely loud._

_ It's a stormy night, the clouds above brewing with an angry, purple force. The wind howls and I can hear the waves crashing in the distance. I want to escape to my beach with Annie, but she won't come to the window. Nothing can be heard over the loud sound of the storm. _

_ "Annie!" I shout uselessly."It's me, Finnick!"_

_ Suddenly, a feeling of unease creeps over me as I realize something must be wrong. And just like that, I'm in the Capitol, face to face with President Snow, as he complains to me about my lack of services of late._

_ "Dear Finnick, some women are getting a bit impatient with their favorite victor. You haven't visited in three months."_

_ "Well," I say uneasily, "I've been busy. I've been helping some of the men around town with their fishing loads." Of course, the real reason for my lack of visits has to do with something else entirely. If I went, I'd be betraying Annie. And I'm hers, whether she knows it or not._

_ "Ah, yes, of course," Snow says delightedly, shaking his head with a smirk. "But Mr. Odair, didn't we agree not to ever lie to each other?"_

_ My heart stops. This seemingly-inviting office now feels cold and grim. He's talking about her. About Annie._

_ "Yes, we did," I say, trying to keep calm and conceal my worry._

_ "You've broken your promise then, Mr. Odair." His face turns down into an angry sneer. "I know about her. There's no use denying your feelings for her because they're clearly written across your face. Now, if you don't come to the Capitol when I tell you to, you can say goodbye to your little lover. I won't have her becoming a distraction for you."_

_ I shudder. He's going to kill her if I don't cooperate. He's going to take away everything…._

_ And just like that, I come to the chilling realization._

_ He's already killed her. I can see it in the way his evil face taunts me. She's gone because of me. She's gone….._

I wake with a start.

In my dream, I allowed myself to stay friends with Annie. I allowed myself to tell her the truth and confide in her. I allowed myself to fall in love with her.

And she _died _because of it.

Desperate, I feel around the sheets as I groggily remember where I am. _She has to be here. It was all a dream. She's alive. _Finally, my fingers brush against the soft skin of her arm, and my heart instantly melts, all worry deflating. Her touch brings the most profound sense of release.

Because I'm just so relieved that she's still here, I drink up her healthiness, and not able to help myself, lean in to kiss her forehead.

My lips against her skin cause a burning friction to ignite in me, and I automatically restrain myself. I can't have Annie like this. My dream is proof enough that I should leave, right now, so that Snow can't hurt her.

But I can't bring myself to leave this bed.

She's still asleep, her face illuminated by the light of dawn, so I lean down once again to press my lips to her ear. "I won't miss an assignment, Annie. I'll keep you safe," I murmur, softly letting the words sink into the air, into my bones, into her unknowing mind, trying to convince myself that I have the power to make sure she doesn't get hurt. I idly wonder if she can subconsciously hear me. Even if she could, I don't know if she'd understand what I mean. That I'm promising I'll do everything in my power to make sure Snow doesn't use our friendship against her.

_I'm selfish. I want her friendship too badly even though I know I'm not allowed to have it. I'm not doing what's best for Annie._

These thoughts plague my mind as I lay there, staring at the sleeping figure of my best friend. She looks so peaceful; it makes me fill with a red, burning fury that the Capitol is forcing today upon her impossibly good heart. She doesn't deserve it.

After all I've done, I deserve the hurt that comes along with these Games. I deserve to feel the remorse, the guilt, the pain; I killed people in that arena. I shouldn't be able to live happily and freely after that knowing that I became a murderer to willingly save myself and live this life.

I deserve it, but she doesn't. And it kills me that I can't do anything about it.

**Chapter 9 Annie**

I pace the floor as night approaches and Mags advises me to get a good night's sleep. Fear latches onto the facets of my brain and leaches it of any other thoughts. What will the arena be like? I can't kill people! I can't do this. I'm not like the others who have survived these Games. I'm weak, I'm fragile, and I'm not strong or competent with weapons. I'm not a survivor. The only information I know about edible plants and how to find food in the arena is what I looked at in training, which wasn't extensive. If I'm thrown into a desert or an arctic expanse where water or nutrition is hard to come by, I'm a goner. I think of a million different situations and possibilities, paralyzed with terror from each and every one of them. I imagine the big, burly boy from District One lunging towards me as I run like a wounded animal, begging for my life….

Tears spring into my eyes and I allow my selfishness to rule my every thought. I cry for myself, for this terrible way to die, for everything I've had to endure because of the Capitol. I don't think of my family or friends mourning the certain loss of their Annie. I only think of myself.

It continues this way for I don't know how long, seconds, minutes, hours? But my body is still wracked with quiet sobs when a thought pricks into the back of my mind and finally stills my tears. Of course, my family and friends will be devastated back home. My mother and father, my younger brother Flynn and older sister Lana, my best friend Pearl. And I'll miss them too: I already do. I miss my mother's loving support, my father's sturdy yet comforting embraces, Flynn's ridiculous jokes, Pearl's wise advice, and Lana's outgoing, smiley, nice-to-everyone personality. They are my family, and of course they would be heartbroken if they realized that I've already accepted I'm going to die in that arena. They want me to do my best and come home. I know they do. But there's one person, who has been drifting in the back of my mind as I cry and is now at the very forefront, swirling my mind into one confusing, emotional mess.

Finnick.

We're friends again, right? We've grown up together. We may have lost touch for a while, but if one good thing has come out of that reaping, it's that I've gained him back. We laugh at dinner; hold each other up on the roof. When he gives me advice or encouragement, he always seems to genuinely want me to make the best of it. Before he cracks a stupid joke, of course.

I wonder what it would be like if I won and went home, with Finnick and Mags. Would Finnick and I's relationship remain? Or would being at home drive a wedge between us that the Games have obliterated?

Now all that's left of my heaving sobs are trailing tears that I sloppily wife off my face as I wonder how Finnick Odair would really feel if I didn't come out of these Games alive. Does he need our friendship, or whatever the relationship we have is, just as much as I do? I can't help but think he doesn't.

Now, with these thoughts racing through my newly cleared mind, I rush into bed and take advantage of my semi-calm mood to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

XXX

It feels like moments later when I'm being pulled out of sleep by a voice, so gentle and soft and near that I long to reach out to its occupant. I can't make out what the silvery voice whispers, but it all sounds like a soothing lullaby to my sleepy ears. But before I even have the chance to peek open my eyes and reassure myself I'm only having a vivid dream, sleep takes hold of me again.

XXX

It's today.

My eyes fly open, and then wish they had stayed shut. Today the Games begin. My heart squeezes in fear, but when I finally force my eyes to focus their attention on the tasks of today, the looming Games are almost forgotten. I blink in shock. Is it my imagination, or is Finnick Odair, the sex god of Panem who usually seems so suave and charming, lying in my bed and staring at me with a sheepish, almost-embarrassed grin?

My heart thumps in my chest as I avert my attention to his liquid, ocean-like eyes. They are lit with a bright amusement and just a little bit of anxiety, which gives his entire face a glowing, sunny appearance. His bronze hair is messy and matted, but it still somehow works for him. And even though the yawn he elicits explains he'd been asleep for probably a good portion of the night until just now, he still looks like some perfect, bronzed god.

And he's in my _bed_.

I think my eyes show some of my confusion, so he grins playfully and clears his throat before poking my side with his index finger. I'm not sure if I'm just imagining things because it's so early in the morning, or if his hand actually lingers on my waist for a few more moments than necessary. Even if it does though, I'm too muddled to really process it. Especially because he's acting like this sleeping arrangement isn't out of the ordinary at all.

"Hey there," he says, winking at me with a crinkled laugh that makes my insides turn soft and spongy. His eyes sparkle with something different, a genuine quality rooted in his smile that isn't there when he puts it on for the Capitol. _Stop, Annie. He's your best friend. You're not going to see him again, remember?_

I laugh off my nervous thoughts and smack him playfully. "Do you ever stop acting so stupid, Fin? And can I ask why you're in my bed?"

"Nope," he says earnestly, apparently answering either one or both of my questions. He sits up suddenly and turns to look at me, his face bright and teasing as the sheets tangle around his legs. "You know what?" he says determinedly.

"What?" I say warily, eyeing his matter-of-fact expression.

He chuckles and turns those mesmerizing eyes on me. "You know, you don't have to sound so reluctant, Annie." He's smiling so uncontrollably it's impossible for me not to grin in return. "You're going to win this thing."

His face looks more serious now, and my thoughts of him last night come swirling back. I once again wonder if he'll miss me even half as much as I'll miss him. Does he think I have a chance at coming out of this thing?

"Fin…" I begin tiredly, not ready to lecture him on my slim odds. "I-"

He cuts me off with a swift slice of his words. "No, Annie, I'm serious. You can do this. You hide from the others, okay? Run like hell when the gong sounds and then get as far away from the others as you can. Then, like Mags talked about earlier, find some water and maybe some shelter. Then you wait it out. You don't have to kill anyone. You don't have to face all these fears. Just try. I'm going to do everything I can to get you back here safe and alive. But you have to try. Don't give up on yourself, because I sure as hell haven't given up on you." His voice turns softer, less demanding here. "I don't know what I'd do without you now, Annie. I don't know how I've gone all these years without my best friend. So, please, just try to come back." Now, his voice sounds small and childish, so unlike the Finnick I know that I wrap my arms around his neck and breathe in that salt-and-perfumed smell that clings to him permanently when he's in the Capitol. His arms loop around my waist and hold tight as he buries his face into my hair.

I can't help but feel like I owe him something. He's lost everything.

"Okay, Fin," I whisper into the dawning light. "I'll try."

He looks up suddenly and studies my eyes, as if he's making sure I mean what I say. "Promise?" he asks.

"I promise," I vow.

Abruptly, the mood becomes lighter and he nudges my shoulder with own. "All right, then. My job here is done."

My stomach clenches in fear. Is he leaving already?

He must notice my terror because he rests his hand on my back and rubs soothing circles across the planes of my shoulders that make goose bumps appear. His touch tingles with an electricity. "Hey, it's okay," he murmurs in a silky, attractive voice. "Don't worry. I'm sticking around up until the very end, remember? Mags is going to wait with York because she knew I'd want to be with you."

As I process his words, I feel relief flood me as butterflies bat against my stomach. Mags knew _he'd_ want to wait with _me_? "All right," I say in a small voice.

"Okay," he concedes, hopping to his feet gracefully. "I'll see you then. Your prep team should be here in a second." Before he leaves though, so quickly I think I might have imagined it, he leans down and touches his lips to my forehead. I feel my cheeks begin to flame as the spot where his lips met my skin tingles with a rosy fire. He's my best friend. He shouldn't be allowed to have this kind of effect on me.

He stops at the door, an impish grin gracing his features. "Is that a blush, Annie Cresta? For me? You shouldn't have." He winks, but he's smiling so widely I can't help but wonder if he's trying mask his thoughts with his usual sexual charm. Before I even have time to stop laughing and ask him, he's out the door.

And suddenly, nothing seems so funny anymore.

I'm terrified. When my prep team comes to fetch me, I drink water and nibble at a loaf of bread, but only because Yvonne insists I eat to build energy. Just the thought of needing stamina in the area though makes me shudder. Why would I need that? So I can use it to kill more innocent children who are in the exact same position that I am?

It's not fair.

This same thought pierces my mind as I watch my prep team work, as I am escorted to the hovercraft by a burly, menacing Peacekeeper, as I feel the aching stab of the tracker injected into my forearm, even as I finally escape the darkness of the tinted windows from the ride to the launch site and stretch my cold, shaking limbs. I cannot escape this fear, though.

Finally, when I arrive at the Launch Room, Finnick's already waiting. His face looks more solemn now, that little wrinkled line in his forehead that always seems to appear whenever he's stressed visible. After all these years, I do remember that about him.

We don't talk. We just sit. Eventually, I rest my head on his shoulder and his arm wraps protectively around my small shoulders. I know I shouldn't cry; I need to be prepared to survive this. But the tears linger in my eyes, threatening to fall as a seeping cold runs through my veins and turns my body shaky. I can't stop fidgeting.

_"One minute till launch." _ A computerized voice echoes into the sterile, steel room around us. My legs buckle and I stand up, leaning on Finnick for support. Suddenly, I feel so sickly nervous that I might faint.

"Annie," Finnick says gently, steadying me with his warm, tall frame. "You need to calm down. Breathe. You can do this. Run. Get away from the others. Focus on water and shelter, and then go from there. Remember, I'm rooting for you. If you have a few good sponsors like I know you will, I can send you anything if you're in dire need. I'll do whatever it takes to protect you. You _will _come home." His voice sounds hard and determined, almost as if he's trying to convince himself of these words. I nod my head acutely, even though I want to sigh at his utter confidence in my situation. Then I remember my family and friends, and remind myself to fight hard. To try to win for them, even if I don't really stand a chance.

To win for Finnick.

The calculating voice sounds again, and I know I must stand on the metal plate now. When I do though, I feel the claustrophobia creeping up on me as I imagine the glass doors of the tube sliding closed and the arena suffocating me.

Finnick sees the look on my face and stands right next to the metal plate that will send me into whatever the Gamemakers have planned this year. Unthinkingly, I reach my fingers out and clutch his until there's only ten seconds remaining and I know I must let go. My hand still tingles from the touch of his, and I can't believe that even though I'm about to enter into a life or death situation, his touch can still make me shiver. He smiles sadly and whispers one last thing before the cold glass slides between us, shutting me away from him, away from the world I wish I could plant myself in.

_"Don't leave me."_

My heart thumps unsteadily and falters.

Although his words could easily imply the fact that he wants me to stay with him and avoid the Games altogether, we both know I can't do that. Instead, it's almost as if his words ring of promise. For some reason, they seem much more permanent, almost saying, _"Come back. And when you do, don't leave me like I left you."_

This in my mind, my answering whisper is hoarse and barely there, but said with conviction all the same.

"Never."

I understand what he means. I understand _him_. I always have. And these words might possibly be the last thing I can ever give him to let him know just that.

He gives me one last sad smile before his face disappears altogether, and I'm left alone in utter darkness, slowly rising.

When the brightness suddenly attacks my eyes, it's blinding.

I've left the real world behind, and now it's this twisted world of murder and survival that I have entered into.

The Games have begun.


	10. Chapter 10

**Okay guys, this Chapter's a bigg'n.**

**And yes, I did just say that word.**

**Anyway, long story short, I wanted to do Annie's Games in one chapter because I'm really excited for Annie and Finnick to go back to District 4 together, which will be the real start of their relationship (although it will be slow-going, like I've promised). Buuuuut I also wanted a detailed version of Annie's Games so that things didn't feel rushed or too glossed over. So, that's what I did. And it may or may not have just ended up being 22 pages long ;) Whoops.**

**Anyway, can I also just say, THANK YOU! I really love you guys and your sweet comments. They make my day. So as usual, PLEASE REVIEW! It means the world to me and gives me motivation.**

**Mockingjayonfi: Here it is ****J**

**And Sam 3: I know you reviewed a while ago but I just wanted to tell you that your review made my day. It was very sweet, and I love long reviews haha. So THANK YOU. And I hope you are having a good week, wherever you are.**

**And one last thing (promise)…. Sorry if there are any typos because I did skim over the Chapter, but I was eager to get this up for you since it was so long, so I didn't do an in-depth edit. I hope you enjoy all the same though.**

**Chapter 10**

She's gone. And it doesn't feel real.

After she disappears, her frightened face rising into the darkness, I suddenly feel uneasy. I want to leave this room, right now and never see it again. Annie's face haunts me: the bright, clear green of her eyes showed her alarm, her utter terror at what she was entering into. If there was any way I could force myself between her and that arena and go in for her, I would. I'm deceitful. I'm selfish. I have the cruel capability to win.

And as much as I pray and hope that my efforts mixed with hers can get her home, I know that Annie doesn't have the ability to become any of those things that I did in the arena. She's too sweet, too innocent.

These thoughts circle around my head as I bang the door shut to that tiny, suffocating launch room and race up the stairs and to the mentor's quarters, right next to the Control room. But the relief that should have come with leaving the room downstairs that launches the tributes into whatever hell is planned this year never comes. I still feel suffocated, almost sick to my stomach. I am safe. Annie is not.

The wait is excruciating.

Almost all of the mentors are here because not many actually stay with their tributes until launch. Because it was Annie, of course I volunteered to see her out into the arena, and Mags wasn't about to test me on it. I take my place next to her on the cold, steel stool and she reaches out to take my hand, grasping it tightly in her soft, buttery fingers.

"Calm, boy. All will be okay. Girl will try for you."

Mags soft words don't have much of an effect.

"I'm so nervous," I mumble lamely, embarrassed at how much I need Mags in this moment. My fingers are vice tight over hers, and if my grip hurts, she doesn't complain.

60, 59, 58, 57….

The screens in the now-dim room blare to life as we watch the countdown. Now, I'm focused, desperately trying to get a feel for what the arena's like before the gong sounds. It's almost like I'm back in the Games.

It's mountains.

The metal plates of the tributes surround the always-present golden Cornucopia, which is placed on a short expanse of flat, hard rock. Beyond the circle of terrain that contains the metal plates and the glittering horn, smaller, less steep, beautiful green hills flow without much protection at all. Then, suddenly, after what seems like miles of green hills, mountains can be glimpsed in the distance. Actual snow-covered, purple-rock mountains that gleam in the bright, incandescent sun. The sky is a clear, ocean blue, not a cloud in sight, and although there are ice-capped mountains, the temperature on the screen reads forty five degrees. Not necessarily freezing, but definitely not warm. I had suspected just as much when I examined the thick, thermal material of the black jumpsuit the tributes were given.

Now that I've seen the arena, I desperately look around all those metal plates until I settle on a pair of bright, sea-foam green eyes that seem to be blinking rapidly to take in her surroundings.

30, 29, 28…

Mags grasps tighter as I frantically glance at her to keep some sort of calm. Next to me, I can feel Johanna Mason staring at me with an amused smirk. I don't care though.

Annie stands still as a post, and I'm praying that she can hold herself together to get the hell out of there. Thankfully, she seems to be responding, listening to the ticking voice of the computerized woman, counting down the seconds in her head.

And finally, the gong sounds.

I'm riveted.

Annie responds as quickly as she can, turning backwards off her plate and running straight towards those green, luscious hills. I can only hope there aren't massive dangers lurking in them.

Her small body maneuvers the flat rock easily, and when she reaches the hills, she hardly slows down. She's running for her life, and I wish she could hear my voice so I could praise her. _Good, Annie. Keep running. Put as much distance between yourself and the others as possible._

When she must be a mile or so in, she slows to a brisk walk. Thankfully, she's still alive, but I'm worried. There hasn't been much sign of water or food, and Annie didn't grab any backpacks or supplies from the Cornucopia. She looks alert yet appeased for the moment, treading lightly while scanning for food or water.

She searches high and low as she keeps walking, but nothing appears.

I'm frantic.

"Mags…" I hiss, my teeth clenched as I grind my hands together. "She doesn't have any food or water."

"No worry, boy. It's there somewhere." Her eyes briefly flit away from York's screen over to Annie's, and I'm about to criticize her for paying attention to York instead of Annie when I remember that she's just doing her job. And besides, I haven't even bothered to glance at York's screen once, so I have no right to say anything.

"Where though?" I mumble.

Mags looks to me thoughtfully. "Not sure yet. Only food York's found is at the Cornucopia."

I sigh audibly and settle to wait, desperately locked on Annie's screen. I'm too preoccupied and worried about her, even though she is just walking through some greenery right now, and anyway, I don't want to look at the screen that shows the bloodbath that is the Cornucopia right now. I hear sad mutters though from one District 3 mentor and know she's lost someone. Also, Haymitch, the extremely loud drunk from District 12, curses when both of his tributes are annihilated at the very beginning.

"Hell!" He spits, knocking back his first of many bottles he will drink in these next weeks. "I told him to stay away from that!"

I glance over at Haymitch and say, "Well, then it's not your fault. There's no saving some people." My words are cold but true. It's not right for anyone to die, but as mentors it only makes life ten times worse if you spend all of your energy hating yourself for something that wasn't really in your power to change in the first place.

Unexpectedly, Haymitch's face sags into a sad, twisted mask as he sighs, suddenly appearing sober.

"I know," he says, and there's real emotion lurking in his voice.

Haymitch has always been a strange one to figure out. Over the years, he's succumbed to drink to deal with his past's demons, but after going through the Games personally, I can't blame anyone for what they decide or don't decide to do afterwards if they come home.

Annie is still walking.

The day is still chilled around dusk, but she's been traipsing through these hills constantly without water. I've been checking Annie's account numbers regularly, watching her sponsor numbers, and although she has more support than some others, it's only enough to send a few things. And even then, she has to be able to find food in that arena, because there won't be enough money to send her every single meal she needs for these next weeks.

Just when I'm about to give up hope and send the damn plate of food anyway, the hills lower into a valley that spreads out under the towering shadows of the mountain ranges, with a river that runs right across the center of the green, lush grass. Its bright blue waters make me sigh in relief, but the suspicion that is lodged in the pit of my stomach doesn't fully disappear until after Annie takes a drink and appears to be fine. She keeps sipping like I instructed her to, and then starts rooting around the banks of the river for some type of edible plant. When she spies what looks to me like a thicket of Katniss roots, she delicately pulls them out of the earth and rinses them in the river before popping them into her mouth raw. It isn't much, but it is a start. Next, she finds some nuts that seem to be ordinary acorns, but just to be safe, she breaks one against a small rock. When it seems like the nuts are edible, she begins eating those too.

After a few minutes of this though, she looks exhausted. She hasn't eaten much, but what she has ingested will be enough for now. She scoots over to the bank of the river and tries to hide herself in some thinly leaved bushes. It's not the best protection, but at least she's far away from the others and semi-hidden. When I glance around the room to view her competition, I couldn't say the same for some other tributes. Eleven have been killed in the blood bath on the first day, which means thirteen are still alive. One and Two both made it, but the girl from 3 is gone. Both from 4 are obviously still alive, but both tributes from five and six are dead. District 7's boy is gone, and District 8 lost both of their tributes.

District 9 is still alive and so is District 10, but District 11 lost one boy, and no surprise that 12 is already out.

All throughout the night, I watch my Annie.

Several mentors leave to go to bed because they simply don't care enough or have other previous victors come into watch over the night for them, but me and Haymitch are the only ones who stay constantly, me because Annie means too much and him because he is the only mentor from District 12 and even though he doesn't act like it, he does care for his kids.

Haymitch and I have developed a sort of bond over these past few years of mentoring, mainly because we both know that the other one has struggles that just aren't supposed to be mentioned. I think he has an idea of what's happening to me, and I see past his drunken stupor and indifferent façade that shows a man lost deep in grief.

We sit in comfortable silence as the room empties, and when Johanna finally leaves and drags out a sleeping Mags, we wait for replacements to come in for the other mentors and settle down for a long night.

I don't talk because my eyes are glued to the screen, and I think Haymitch senses that something's different this time around.

"What the hell, kid? You look terrible. Go to sleep. Where's your night shift mentor?"

I'm barely listening. "I don't have one this year," I mutter.

Haymitch snorts. "Huh." And that's all he says. But I'm stupid. I know he's smart, and I know he's already guessed that the cause of my stress is Annie by the time the words come out of his mouth.

"You know the girl then."

I don't even blanch at his I intuition. I simply nod.

We don't say anything else on the subject for the rest of the night.

XXX

I don't really even register the morning until Mags comes in, placing her hand on my shoulder as she falls down onto her stool.

"Boy, you need sleep. I'll look after her."

"I can't, Mags," I groan. I'm dead tired, but I just can't bring myself to tear my eyes away from the screen. Annie's still sleeping; the arena's dark clouds make the morning seem more like an ominous night.

Mags sighs understandably, but she still persists. "Go. The better you take care of yourself, the more you help her."

I know she's right. So, in order to compromise with her, I do fall asleep, right in that same chair I haven't left since the Games begin. I refuse to leave.

It seems like only seconds later when I'm awoken with a light shake. "Finnick?"

I raise my head immediately and force open my eyes, trying to move my sleeping limbs awake. "What?"

"It's me, douche. Johanna. Mags is gone trying to win sponsors to send your girl some food because her little river bank nuts aren't doing the trick, so I thought you'd want to be woken up. That crazy old woman of yours told me not to, but I knew you'd want to be awake to watch Annie."

I nod, instantly more focused. I need to help Annie. She needs food. She needs sponsors.

One quick glance at the screen shows me that Annie is weaker than she was yesterday. Even though she slept all night, according to Johanna, she's clearly ravenous. She's eating some dandelions right now, trying to chop them up with a stick into a salad-like texture, but it's obviously not going to last her very long. All she's had are nuts and a few greens, besides the water, which thankfully seems to be plentiful.

She's on the side of the riverbank still, but I'm increasingly worried. I shouldn't have fallen asleep; it only makes me feel like I've missed that much more and that I'm that much more behind. More tributes are making their way from the hills into the valley because besides the Careers who have the food from the Cornucopia, the valley seems to be the only source of food. And the Careers packed up all their food during the night and are heading towards the valley where they know many tributes are hiding. Two tributes were killed overnight in a small battle in the hills when an alliance of three found the lone girl from 11, and although Annie doesn't know it, across the river from her are the boy and girl from District 10, both with decent strength and survival skills but both injured, the girl more severely. She probably won't make it through the day considering how much blood she's lost, and her friend seems to know this too. Miraculously, he hasn't given up yet. He's by her side, standing guard even though he's running on very little sleep. I wish I was there to be able to do that for Annie.

She's alone.

I'm glad she's escaped the others, but I'm afraid that they will find her soon, which makes me shudder with chilled blood and grip the edge of the tabletop even harder.

Throughout the day, I don't move at all. Mags brings me lunch, some baked, cheese-filled, crusted pasta, but it's still virtually untouched by the time dinner rolls around. I'm too nervous to eat, and if the damn Gamemakers weren't so stubborn and allowed the mentors to send in money of their own instead of only relying on the sponsors, I'd send Annie all of the money I had in exchange for meals if I could.

By dinner again tonight, I feel sick once again. Annie's weak, having hid out on the bank all day without any substantial nutrients. She's trembling from hunger, but I'm too afraid to use the money stockpiled from her sponsors for a good meal because then, if she desperately needs medicine or other supplies, I won't have the money. And even with the money we do have, it's not enough to pay for a good meal now. It might have cut it on day one, but not anymore. I'm scrambling around the control room, starting to pace frantically, as phone call after phone call ends sourly because people don't believe Annie's a survivor. I'm frustrated and sick with worry for Annie, so I do the only thing I can do. I leave the room, tell Mags to watch for me until I come back, and scramble out of the building past the cameras and groups of people that chant stupid things at the large screens that portray the Games constantly in the Capitol. I'm racing towards my destination, a modern, crowded bar full of rich Capitol idiots watching the Games and betting on their favorite tributes. When I arrive, there is a small commotion, but otherwise, many people's eyes stay focused on the screens. It disgusts me how these people can sit here and watch this happen, watch children die fighting to the death, but I can only dwell on it for so long before I spot my target. Wild, bright purple hair, surgically enhanced, overly large breasts, and etched, silver-toned designs carved onto her face. Rhea Lovelet. Daughter of one of the Capitols' most wealthy businessmen, wanted by too many young, desperate Capitol men, and a convenient option for me only because I've been with her before and I know she'll pay me however much I want. I don't normally ask my clients for money only because it makes me feel even more sick about what Snow makes me do and I have too much already, but this time, it will be different. Immediately, I waltz up to her like she's mine and wrap my arms around her waist, leaning forward and pressing my lips to her ear to whisper, "Hello."

She squeals, pretending to bashfully glance around at the shocked faces of gaping people, even though she's secretly eating up the attention. "Well, hello, Finnick."

I cut straight to the heart of the matter. "I want you."

I don't think about the words or the intention they have or what they entail. To me, this is a normal part of what I have to do in order to survive. I'm detached, even though I can sell anything to anyone and convince Rhea within a matter of seconds that I am her true love. She blushes slightly but then confidently takes my hand and pulls me out onto the candy-colored sidewalk and down the street, to her apartment. There, I let her have me, just like Snow would want, simply because it's what I have to do.

Her nails scratching over my skin, her breath hot in my ear…. I begin to regret that I forgot to get wasted before this. Usually, drinking helps me feel number, more unaware of my actions. But tonight, that's not the case.

When it's finally over and she lies next to me, panting with too much exaggeration, I tell her what I want. And I read the surprise in her features when she hears it's not another dirty secret I'm looking for.

"I need money, Rhea. You know as well as I do I love a good secret, especially from you, but my tribute Annie Cresta needs sponsors badly. She's a hungry thing, but a good survivor, definitely has a chance. Can you do this for me?"

She doesn't give a moment's hesitation. "Well, of course, Finnick," she whispers smoothly into the dark, night air. "But I'm just curious, why do you suddenly want money for your girl? You've never asked me to help you with sponsorship before."

"Ahhh," I say, trying to think quickly yet confidently. "You see, Annie's just so close to her family and so I want her to make it home, for her father. You love your father, don't you Rhea?" I already know her answer. She loves her father because he gives her gifts and makes her desirable with his money.

"Of course. I understand your position completely. Consider it done, Finnick. Only for you. I'll have it by midnight tonight."

"Thank you, Rhea," I whisper in her ear, a hint of real sincerity coloring my tone. For the first time, I feel truly grateful for her presence tonight. If it means I can help Annie, I'll do anything.

Like she promised, when I finally leave her home and slip into the window-darkened limousine to arrive back at the mentor facility, the money's there. I don't hesitate before I order a plate of those little birds dipped into the orange spicy sauce paired with a thick, hearty rice that Annie loved on the train ride to the Capitol.

Everything I've gone through tonight is worth it when I see her expression of pure relief at the sight of real food. That night, she sleeps easily, and surprisingly, so do I.

That doesn't last very long.

It's the wee hours of the morning when someone shakes me awake, roughly, and I can tell by the harsh words spewing from her mouth that it's not Mags. It's Johanna.

"Get up, you bastard! District 10's been attacked right across the river from your girl! Your boy's there, and he sure as hell isn't about to protect his district partner! Now get the hell up so you can't blame me when she dies!"

I'm up and trembling with fear before Johanna's even finished her sentence.

"Shut the fuck up, Johanna! Where is she?" I look frantically at the screen and see Annie huddled down in the grass, whimpering in fear as she hears the District 10 girl wheeze out one final plea before York himself buries an ax in her already-wounded chest. I know Annie didn't see it, but you can tell she heard the sickening crunch of blade meeting skin by the way she cringes and covers her ears with her hands hard. I want to reach out to her so badly, but there's no time for that right now in the moment. The District 10 boy has escaped York and the Careers, and he's plunging across the river, right towards Annie. When she hears him coming, her eyes dilate in utter terror and I curse, rising out of my chair, completely bent on protecting her. "What the hell? Run, Annie! Get the hell out of there!"

It's almost like she hears my scream, the way she suddenly hops to her feet and takes off towards the mountains. She's unarmed and completely defenseless, but thankfully the Careers seem more concentrated on District 10 then Annie. Finally, when District 10 is too far away for them to catch, they give up with scowls, promising to go hunting for him tonight. He's still running towards Annie though, and my heart is racing. I know almost nothing about this boy, except for the fact that he comforted his district partner when she was about to die and seems to have at least a little bit of a heart. But who knows? Was that only because it was his fellow tribute, possibly his friend, that was dying? I have no idea. But the closer he gets, the more my fists clench. Mags is somewhere beside me trying to whisper kind words, but I'm not listening. I push everyone in my way to the side and sit right in front of the biggest screen in the room, a floor to ceiling projection of the arena that I wish I could save Annie from. I hear grunts of annoyance from other mentors as my eyes glue to the television and bore into Annie's back. She hears him coming. She's not fast enough. My head falls defeated into my lap.

"Please make it quick," I hear her whisper.

There's a pregnant, eerie silence. It's coming. I know it is.

"I'm not going to do that."

What the hell?

My head snaps up. The boy from District 10, nameless to me as of right now, is reaching out his hand to Annie, who's huddled at the base of the mountain and shuddering in fear. His sword clatters to the ground as he helps her up.

"I'm Rye," he says gently. "You're District 4, aren't you?"

I hear cursing from somewhere behind me. District 10's mentor isn't happy that his tribute is making alliances with people that shouldn't matter.

Annie's eyes seem to still be dilated and doubtful, but she answers shakily anyway. "Yes. I'm Annie."

"Well then, it's nice to meet you. You can trust me, you know. Let's go up this mountain path and see if we can catch some more sleep before anything else happens. I have food in my pack if you're hungry."

Who is this guy?

He's charming, friendly, and seems to have some pretty kick-ass sponsors along with some pretty impressive skills of his own considering he has two birds he killed packed away in his bag, along with sponsor-given gifts like burn medicine and a thermal sleeping bag that I know for sure wasn't at the Cornucopia because the Careers took all five of them the first day.

I wonder if Annie buys his words.

She looks suspicious, and she says so. _That's my girl._

"How do I know you're not going to kill me?" she whispers, and she sounds so innocent and terrified that it breaks my heart.

"Because," the boy states matter-of-factly, "I want to help you instead of hurt you. I'm not going to hurt anyone in here. I' m just going to outsmart them and end up winning. But I don't hurt people like you. You don't deserve it."

Rye doesn't know how right he is, or how many times I've thought exactly what he's thinking now.

Annie seems to relax, her shoulder muscles sagging. "I guess," she says. Then more softly, "I am hungry."

"Good," Rye murmurs, leading her up the mountain path. "I don't want to go too far, but we'll start our fire up here since I don't think anyone else is in the mountains yet. We'll cook these birds then go back down when we need to and hunt for more food. Sound good?"

Annie merely nods.

And just like that, she's in an alliance.

As they begin to cook the birds as day breaks, Rye accepts Annie's silence, and I'm riveted. I think the rest of Panem is too. This guy just saved Annie's life and he doesn't even know her; I want, for some lame reason that I'm too ashamed to admit out loud, to be jealous of him that he's risked everything for Annie when I should be the one doing that. But then I remember the circumstances our world is under, and I can be nothing but grateful for this strangely kind yet seemingly sincere boy.

They spend the day hiding in the mountains, and Rye takes Annie back down to the valley right next to the mountainside only once so that they can scavenge for more food. They find nuts, berries, those katniss tubers that Annie discovered her first day, and two plump, colorful birds that Rye kills with ease. He's experienced with his bow and arrow, creating a clean kill that Annie admires quietly as he skins the bird and sets it out to roast. Evening is falling by the time they make it back to their mountain camp, and the evening sky burns around them like a dusky, cool twilight. The stars dance as the moonlight casts pale shadows on the outcroppings of rocks and accentuates Annie's delicate features. The fire is now dying so that they won't be found out during the night, but Annie's eyes are downcast, boring into the flickering embers of the remaining fire. While the moonlight highlights her cheekbones and carves out her perfectly sculpted face, the dancing embers create beautiful shadows that flit across her clear, bronze skin. That dark curtain of hair falls down one shoulder, tangled and messy yet perfect all the same. Somehow, even in this arena, she still manages to look like the most beautiful girl I've ever seen.

Rye breaks the peaceful quiet. "Do you miss home, Annie?"

"Yes," Annie whispers, her voice a soft lull. "I miss my family, mostly. And my friends. And the ocean."

"Me too. I always wanted to see the ocean."

Annie looks sad for a moment. "You will someday," she murmurs.

I'm suddenly disappointed and angry that she'd agree to give up on her own life so soon. It's too much like Annie, to willingly accept that she's going to die so that someone else can live for her by pursuing whatever life goals they may have, like seeing the ocean or having a family or starting a successful trade back at home. I'm not sure if it makes me care for her all that much more, or if it upsets me. Either way, I've already let myself care about her too much, so it shouldn't matter now.

"Don't say that," Rye frowns. I can't tell if he's actually upset by her statement or not.

"Oh well, I don't want to talk about the ocean. It only makes me homesick. What about you? What do you miss about home?"

"My best friend, Lydia. My family. Just… the people there."

"I understand," Annie says empathetically, resting a comforting hand on Rye's shoulder. "It's hard to be away from home."

"Yes," Rye muses, staring up at the darkened sky. Then, he suddenly turns to Annie and squares his shoulders. "Is there anyone special waiting for you back home?"

Annie seems to think for a moment, her cheeks flushing noticeably even in the dark. My eyes bulge at the thought of her having someone to come home to, someone _special._ It only occurs to me now that I would never know if she even had a boyfriend or not back home. What the hell? Why do I even care? And why is she blushing?

"No," she giggles, tucking a wave of silky, chocolate hair behind her ear.

I release a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. And I think I was holding it in anticipation. Odd.

I really do care about her too much.

"Oh, come on!" Rye laughs, breaking me out of my complicated thoughts. "You're blushing!"

"There's really not," Annie laughs again. And it almost makes me sad that she's right, but why, I have no idea.

They let it go for the moment and continue to eat until Annie falls asleep and Rye takes the first watch, agreeing some sort of unspoken arrangement that he is the protector. Only after I see Annie's eyelids flutter close can I finally relax and stretch my stiff muscles. With so much change for her in one day, my body has responded to the stress. I'm suddenly ravenous, so hopefully Mags left me some food before she headed to bed for the night.

I stand up slowly; remembering that I migrated to the floor right in front of the big projecting screen after Annie was almost killed. My muscles are stiff and my back is sore, but that doesn't matter now. Annie's asleep and protected by some stranger that I for some reason trust implicitly. And I don't trust anyone.

I'll keep watching him after I eat. There has to be something wrong with him.

I'm struggling to get to my feet and finally turning around to head to the table to devour my food, if it's there, when I notice everyone staring at me.

Everyone.

Even Mags, who I thought would have gone to bed hours ago, is sitting back at our table, resting against that cold, metal stool. And she's smiling. A toothy, heart-warming smile.

"What the hell?" I blurt.

Johanna, her face wearing a cocky yet strangely soft smirk, is the first one to break the uncomfortable silence. "What the hell happened to sex god of Panem, Finnick Odair?" Suddenly, she's cackling so loudly it's almost amusing, and others join in, but I'm so confused. And I'm used to feeling confident and in control, especially in situations like this, so I blanch.

"What the hell is going on?" I repeat, more serious this time. When that doesn't work, I decide to play up my Capitol charm, attempting to daze one of the more ditzy mentors that might actually buy my stupid, arrogant-and-sexy crap."I know I'm attractive, but you guys didn't stare at me before."

My joke falls flat as a few mentors snicker. I see Chaff trying to hold back a laugh while Brutus simply shakes his head slowly as if he's confused, maybe even a little disgusted. Haymitch is still guffawing at Johanna's joke, the one I still don't really understand because Haymitch very rarely laughs genuinely. I'm about to ask for the third time what's going on when Mags finally speaks up.

"You and girl."

Those are the only words I need to figure out what's going on here.

These mentors are laughing because they think something's changed in me. Because it has. Because now I have Annie Cresta to worry about whereas before I had no one but myself and Mags. And I see it in all of their eyes: they can tell she's more than some tribute to me. They know that I know her, at least. Hell, they might even think I'm in love with her.

I almost scoff. They would know better than anyone else that it's impossible for someone like me to love someone like Annie Cresta.

"All I can say is you're a goner, Finn."

Johanna's remark bites through my hard resolve and stings my heart. I'm not in love with her. I can't love her. She's my best friend. And these people have no idea what the hell they are talking about.

But although Johanna's comment makes old wounds fester in my chest and my heart constrict, her harsh, cynical humor breaks up the hard silence. Everybody slowly turns their eyes away from me to other more pressing things, like the impending deaths of their tributes being played out on the screen in front of us right now.

I ignore the others and turn my attention back to Annie.

In sleep, she looks so peaceful, so unperturbed by the arena around her. I wish so badly I could fall asleep like that; escape into that Dreamland I used to tell Annie about and simply forget about the world I'm living in. But tonight, I know sleep won't find me. I have to stay up to watch Annie. After all, the pool is down to nine now. And District One and Two are both still alive, along with York, which makes five Careers.

Just as I'm starting to worry again about the brute force of the competition Annie still has left to face, Mags comes over to say goodnight. She brushes a piece of my hair that's fallen into my eyes back into place, and her eyes crinkle with that familiar look of fondness that I've grown to know so well.

"Goodnight, Finnick."

"'Night, Mags."

And just like that, it's me and Haymitch again, trying to keep watch all night without dozing off. Right now, it seems as if the Games are taking a brief respite from violence, allowing an eerie sort of peacefulness to invade.

But in the Games, you're never that lucky.

One moment, I'm watching Rye struggling to keep his eyes open as Annie still sleeps soundly, and the next, I'm watching him jump to his feet as the Careers, York in the lead, start to clamber up into the mountains, dangerously close to the camp Rye and Annie make-shifted. He's shaking Annie awake and in seconds, her eyes are wide in fear and her muscles clench tonight.

"Annie," Rye whispers in a low voice. "Get up. You have to run!"

Annie looks torn. "But you're coming too, right?"

"I will. I just have to make sure I fight them off long enough…" Rye trails off as the footsteps grow nearer. "Now go! Go right on that pathway! It will take you right back down to the valley. Wait in the mountains though. Don't go near the bank. I'll meet you at the mouth of the path, near the base of the mountain, as soon as I've fended them off. Please. Go!"

"Rye, you can't take on all five of them…" Annie now looks terrified, her hands shaking.

"Please, Annie, go! And take this pack with you!"

Something about the way Rye's eyes plead with a sort of fierce determination finally fazes Annie, and she's up and running before I have the chance to blink. Blindly running to the right, down a new pathway, away from the Careers.

Even when she's terrified and clearly trying to run for her life, she looks beautiful.

The more distance she puts between herself and the Careers, the more relaxed I become. Until I hear the cannon; glance at the large screen to see York, my own tribute, bearing down with his axe onto Rye's head, disconnecting it from his body.

Rye. So good to Annie, so unwilling to die, someone who I will owe forever. Now gone.

Annie hears it too.

She stops, frozen in her tracks, and waits to hear the fighting continue. When it doesn't, the terrible realization dawns on her, and before I can process it, she's running in the opposite direction, back towards the campsite, back towards the Careers.

"Shit!" I scream, rising up to stand as my hands grip my hair head too tightly. "She's going to get herself killed!"

Annie keeps running, but slows when she knows the campsite is close. And then, just for a brief second, she peeks her head around the corner of the purple, volcanic rock wall, and sees Rye. Dead, beheaded, and alone, with the Careers traipsing back down the mountain, their backs to Annie, their sneering as they clap York on the back for his kill.

She comes undone.

Thankfully, the Careers don't notice the scream Annie muffles in her shirt because they're already too far way, but I notice it. And it kills me.

In that moment, something changes.

Her eyes lose that bright-as-day, clear, ocean-green color. They turn hazy; muddy and foggy as she now blindly stumbles away from Rye's decapitated body, clearly trying to distance herself from the atrocity in front of her. Tears that she seems to be unaware of drizzle down her cheeks and stain them. Her hair is wild, her movements stumbled, as she finally reaches that small landing just above the base of the mountain where Rye was going to meet her. It's here, on this stone little outcropping, that she crumples into a heap and sobs: terrifying, body-wracking sobs that make her voice go raw and her throat go hoarse.

My heart breaks for her. My Annie, my beautiful, innocent, kind Annie did not deserve to see this. I would give anything for the image of Rye's head, bloodied and jaggedly uneven, to be erased from her mind. But it's too late, and it makes me furious. And more determined than ever to make sure that Annie is the one who comes out of that arena, and not just for my sake, but for Rye's too.

Somewhere in the midst of all this, Mags has come in and placed her hand on my shoulder. I think I see a tear escape her eye, and maybe that's just because she feels for Annie, or because the tribute she trained killed a good man like Rye, or maybe both. Either way, no one in the room is laughing.

Because something's happening to Annie that's never happened to a tribute before. And it's scary.

She's stopped moving. She's stopped responding. She's stopped crying. Abruptly, her hands go to her ears and her eyes squeeze shut tightly. No sound, no movement, no emotion. She's locked in place, curled up on her side on the ground of the mountain pass, clutching her head like she's trying to keep it from exploding. Panic settles in my throat as I watch her fall apart. I'm praying that she gets up, or responds, or brushes aside her grief just for one moment so that she can eat something before collapsing into sleep. She needs to take care of herself and stay strong. But without Rye, that's going to be nearly impossible for her considering earlier, she was merely surviving off of bite-sized nuts and greens from the riverbank.

Thankfully she still has Rye's pack.

But she doesn't go through it like I wish she would and start to nibble on her food. She doesn't remove her hands from her ears, or fall asleep even. She stays locked in place, like a statue.

It's like this all through the remainder of the night and well into the day. Finally, I can't take it anymore.

I shove my stool out from under me and flee the room.

There's not really anywhere to go, but I end up hiding in a supply closet down the hall from the control room. I feel sick. Worried sick. She hasn't moved, she hasn't eaten, she hasn't even opened her eyes. I miss those clear-green pools that were always so full of compassion and kindness and trust: I miss _her_.

I don't know when it happens, but eventually I'm on my hands and knees, sobbing and shaking and desperately clutching myself to keep from breaking apart. She's losing herself. She's going insane. She promised she would never leave me, but I'm afraid she already has. Her will is gone, her desire to live, her fight... All gone.

What seems like years later, I'm semi-conscious of the door to my pathetic hideout opening as Johanna's face peeks out from behind the stained wood. For once, she looks serious.

"Finnick?" Her voice is soft, gentle, serious, and almost identical to her facial expression. I look up and simply stare, unable to do anything else.

"I…" She tries to think of something to say, but when nothing comes out, she simply slides down next to me and sits cross-legged, holding my hand tightly in hers. Not for show, not in order to reveal any misled or hidden feelings for me… Just in pure comfort and true friendship, something I now realize we have. After everything we've gone through together, she's one of the only people who I can a real friend: someone who knows what it's like to be me, someone who knows just how tightly I'm bound.

We say nothing, until I finally know that I must go back.

Abruptly, the words spill out of my mouth. "I'm scared, Jo."

"I know." For once, Johanna's face is creased in real understanding and concern, not that bitter mask of sarcasm that I know she wears so often to protect herself from feeling vulnerable.

"Something's not right. She's going mad…. She's too—innocent. To see something like that. She's fragile. She can't handle it. I—I don't know what I'm going to do…" My voice is trailing off as I become more and more panicked, until finally, Johanna interrupts me.

"You'll just have to remind her that you're still there with her somehow."

If only I had a way.

But even though I'm worried sick, I know I can't burden Johanna with this any longer. This isn't her responsibility. So reluctantly, I stand, releasing Johanna's hand to pull myself together as I savor these last few bits of darkness that the closet provides. As fiercely loyal as ever, she copies me, rising from her cross-legged position on the floor and planting her feet in front of me, in front of the door, in order to press a friendly kiss to my cheek, a kiss that has no hidden meanings or secret motives. She's simply letting me know that she's there, and that feels better than anything.

"Thanks, Jo," I croak, my voice cracking embarrassingly.

"Don't worry about it, Fin," she assures me, straightening my collar with her hands. "You can't always be the strong one. Now, go out there and give 'em hell." Her smirk, although refreshing because it's finally Johanna acting a bit like her usual, cynical self, doesn't make me smile. I still welcome it though.

Funny how some people creep up on you, isn't it? How one day, you're with them, and you don't realize how much they mean to you until you need them and they're there?

This is the thought I cling to as I walk down the hallway, back to the control room, back to those haunted, glassy green eyes.

XXX

It comes to me later the next night.

I've been staring at this screen since yesterday, willing Annie to reappear. Physically, she's there. That dark mop of beautiful, coffee-colored hair, bronzed skin, sea-green eyes, and high, sculpted cheekbones. Even in her near-oblivion, she still looks beautiful.

It's mentally that she's vanished.

Her eyes have opened now, but her hands still cover her ears. She's still curled up, void of any drink or water since that terrible moment when she crumpled on her and Rye's meeting place. I'm so afraid; afraid she's going to starve, afraid she's going to be offed by the Gamemakers when they realize the state she's in isn't alleviating, afraid someone's going to stumble upon her and think of her as easy prey.

I can't even bear to think about all the possibilities.

It's later that night, while Mags is trying to force feed me some of that rich, plum-filled lamb stew, when an idea finally dawns on me. I know all of the mentors have been talking about the crazy tribute Annie, and sponsorship money has dwindled down to nothing because of her apparent "dive off the deep end", as I heard one idiotic mentor, Brutus I think, say. They think I'm crazy for sending her food, for spending the little bit of money I have left on supplies that she won't use because she isn't mentally capable of understanding her body's needs. But what if I sent her something different than that? A note, or maybe something from home, something to remind her that she's still good, that I'm still here, that there's still people worth fighting for?

I have an idea.

The first phone call I make is to District Four.

"Hello?" A tired woman's voice comes onto the line, sounding worn and very tired.

"Mrs. Cresta? This is Finnick Odair."

The line goes silent.

I haven't actually spoken to her in five years, because of the fallout I'd had with Annie, and also because she mainly stayed inside tending to the house and Annie's ailing grandfather. When I did see her though, I made an effort to at least smile, considering she'd practically raised me just as much as my own mother, and if I had let her, I know that after my family died she would have loved me and taken me in with everything she had. Instead, I chose to live by myself, all alone in that Victor's Village house. Now, I'm not sure what she thinks of me. She probably knows that I started avoiding her daughter after my Games. Maybe she thinks it was because I thought I was too good for Annie or maybe she actually bought that stupid, sexual air of mine that I still continue to sell today. Who knows? I guess it doesn't matter now though. Annie is probably the only thing on her mind too, just like she's on mine.

Finally, there is a brief sigh that sounds almost relieved, or maybe just deflated? "Finnick. Hello. I was praying for the day when I'd be able to hear your voice again."

The ghost of a smile forms on my lips. I was always close with Annie's mom. "Ah, yes, Mrs. Cresta. I'm here. And it's good to talk to you too."

"Yes, it's been too long."

"It really has…" I'm trying to be polite, but I can't take it anymore. I'm too anxious about Annie. "Look, Mrs. Odair, I don't mean to upset you, but the real reason I'm calling is because of Annie. And I think you know why. She's not well. And I was thinking, maybe if I sent her something from home, something to remind her of why she still needs to fight and that she's still who she was at home, that maybe she'd, you know.." I take a deep breath,"…come back."

"That sounds good," Flora Cresta whispers, her voice hoarse and clearly desperate. "Yes, we'll try anything. What did you have in mind?"

"I was thinking… a seashell? Those white ones from the beach?"

"Yes, of course. I'll send it right away."

"Thank you." My voice burns with gratitude at the sacrifice she must be making in order to send this package a far distance. I'll pay her back after… after this is over. Then, suddenly, I'm aware of a responsibility bearing upon my shoulders, a looming, desperate desire that allows me to realize her family is counting on me to bring her home. So I add, "I'm going to try my best to bring her back, Mrs. Cresta. I really am."

I can hear her breathy thanks over the line, and then the sounds go dead.

Now I can do nothing but wait.

I remain up all night, constantly checking my sponsor's mailbox for the package. It shouldn't take that long to come in, especially because I arranged and paid for it to come within a day's time. Hopefully that will be soon enough.

Annie's still unmoving.

She's still gone.

And it's killing me.

Nothing much else has happened over these past two days after Rye's death, and that's why I'm so worried. I've seen the screens in the Capitol; people are bored, they've made their bets and are now simply waiting for something to happen. The interviews for the Final 8 happened back at home yesterday, so that allowed for some bit of excitement, but now that those are over, the Gamemakers are going to concoct something to rile up these hideous Capitol citizens. I can feel it in my very bones.

I don't know what I'm going to do if they make me lose her.

All throughout this, I've tried to keep calm, but I think I've been fooling everyone. Mags just shoots sympathetic smiles my way almost by the minute, while the other tributes simply ignore bat-shit crazy Finnick who will kill anyone who even tries to tell him that what he's doing is worthless.

Thankfully, when the package arrives the next morning, this time I manage to suppress my anxiety as I slip the delicate shell through the small slot in our viewing room. But just as it is about to be taken by the slot and transported to the Gamemaker's control room right behind this steel wall, another idea dawns on me, so I quickly grab a pen and small piece of paper. Attaching it to the sea shell, my hands are shaking with the burning anxiety of not knowing whether or not Annie will be swayed by my gift.

In messy, hurried letters, I write three words, those same three words I told her in the Launch room, right before these Games started.

_Don't leave me.-F_

With that, the note is sucked into the slot and disappears from view.

And it reappears on the screen only minutes later.

At first, I'm suddenly worried. What if she doesn't even bother to open the silver parachute? What if she simply lets it sit there like all those other packages filled with supplies that I sent? Thankfully, only seconds later, when the gift comes into view fully, do I realize that the beautiful shell the Crestas collected off the beach is free of any packaging at all. It simply dangles from the same thread that parachutes hang from, swaying slightly in the fluttering breeze. Against the orangey-pink sky of dawn, the white shell is bright, floating right past Annie's unfocused eyes.

All at once, everything clicks into focus.

Annie's head snaps up, her eyes lock onto the shell, and at once, she's gripping it tightly, running her fingers over the smooth yet ridged texture, gawking at the perfection of something so pristine and white somehow ending up in that hellish arena. There, on the mountain, she displays the first sign of any emotion in three days. And even though you can tell what she's experiencing is horrifying, heart-wrenching grief, at least she is reacting again. The camera focuses on the rumbling of her stomach as she realizes how hungry she is, and through her streaming tears, she gives in and turns to eat until she sees Rye's orange pack. And before she realizes it herself, I know she won't touch it.

She covers her ears again, clearly overwhelmed by the strong, bitter reminder that Rye was with her once at this very outcropping of rock, but right as I begin to worry that she'll once again fall back into her trance-like state, she comes out of it and stands, her limbs looking stiff and sore, as she seems to be contemplating what to eat. Without another thought, she looks to the left where I've been sending her plates of food and frowns sheepishly, probably realizing for the first time in three days that I've been trying to help her stay alive by sending countless packages. She eats the stale food slowly, but it's easy to see that she's enjoying it. After all, she almost starved herself. Once she's done, she wraps it all up and sets it beside herself on the cool, gray surface of the mountain ground.

Only then, after she's done eating, does she realize that attached to her pristine, white seashell from home is a note from me. The camera zooms, focusing on my messy scrawl, and I can almost hear the sighs emitting from the hearts of foolish, shallow Capitol women. How disgusting to think of the enjoyment that they receive from watching twisted games like this.

But even though I'm disgusted by the Capitol, when a brief, knowing look glints in Annie's eyes and the ghost of a smile runs across her lips more mere seconds, a single tear slides down my cheek. I can save her. She knows I'm still here. She understands me, just like I've always understood her. She realizes that I gave her the shell so would be reminded of home and her family, of the beautiful innocence that the pristine, white sea shells she sold possess. She has that same innocence, and that was something I decided forever ago, on that beach, when even though I continued to argue with her about it, I realized myself that those shells were beautiful and pure: just like Annie. She may think she's lost her innocence in these Games, but I know she hasn't. And that shell can remind her of just that.

In a fleeting look, I know her well enough to understand she's received my silent message.

She's back. Wounded and scarred and broken. But at least she's alive again. Her gaze takes in the morning sky, and I notice that her eyes aren't as foggy as they used to be. They still seem confused and frightened and scared, but they aren't unfocused. She is seeing what is in front of her, not allowing her mind to dictate.

This is good. This is a good thing. Things will get better.

All of the mentors seem to think so. Some are muttering or gasping in shock, Mags is patting my shoulder and whispering her mutters of relief, while Haymitch simply says, "About damn time." And although Johanna laughs at his joke, I can tell she is secretly genuinely pleased for me that Annie's semi-functioning once again.

And when Annie takes the seashell and ties it onto a piece of rope that's lying near the forbidden backpack in order to make a necklace, one of the screens in our room flickers to the City Circle, where choruses of sappy wails are being elicited from over-emotional, Capitol idiots who think that Finnick Odair's note and shell becoming a necklace is possibly one of the most touching and profound things ever.

And just to prove my theory, sure enough, just mere seconds later when I glance at Annie's sponsorship bank account, the money in it has nearly doubled due to the sensitive, sympathetic Capitol freaks who actually have ridiculous amounts of money that they spend oh-so-wisely on a child killing tournament.

But Annie has money because of them. And she's at least functioning again. Things are getting better. Things will get better. They _have_ to now. Annie deserves it.

But that's not how the Capitol works.

Actually, it's almost comical how fast things turn from good to bad once again in the blink of an eye. But this time, it's not because of Annie or Rye or the unimaginable loss she's suffered. It's because of the Gamemakers.

The changes are subtle at first. The sky begins to darken; the wind picks up and whooshes through the thin, echoing mountain passes, while the thermometer on the large projector reads that the temperature is dropping a few degrees. It's almost like a storm is coming, and I begin to worry. Annie has no source of shelter, no one to calm her fears. And in her mental state, I'm not sure how beneficial a storm would be to her mental soundness.

But myself and all the other mentors quickly realize it's much more than that.

Haymitch swears under his breath. Somebody gasps. I stare.

It's a dam. Behind the towering mountains that loom at what all of us thought was a gray, rock wall signaling the edge of the arena, is actually a dam wall. Because now the Gamemakers have filled the space behind the mountain pass with blue, rushing water and it's almost like the liquid is moving in slow-motion as it sloshes casually over the huge, tips of the mountain peaks, leisurely spilling from the invisible wall directly behind the jagged rocks of the mountains.

And just like that, the invisible barrier gives way, and water is spewing everywhere. It's escaping at an incredibly fast clip, down the mountains, towards Annie. She hears the loud_ whoosh _of the water and turns only to be sucked under by a wave so great that it easily carries her past out of the mountain pass, across the river, and to the edge of the hills before she finally is able to kick to the surface and suck in a huge gulp of air. In the craziness of the now-rushing rapids, two tributes have died, and I let out a huge sigh of release when Annie is able to suck more air into her lungs. She's fighting to stay sane, I can tell, but she's still kicking and trying to survey the area around her. For a moment, I actually, for the first time, feel real hope, a dangerous yet blissfully sweet sensation, as I realize that Annie is a better swimmer than all of these other tributes, York included. York spent his years at home training for the Games, a true Career, whereas Annie spent all of her free time on the beach and in the water.

She can do this.

Ten minutes later, she's still treading water.

And one hour later, she begins to shiver and tremble with exhaustion and coldness as the remaining tributes fight to stay alive as well. The numbers are dwindling, but I'm praying she can hold on. And just when she is about to give up, when I can see it in her eyes that she has decided to allow herself to sink and finally cease trying, a cannon sounds. York's cannon. As he's finally swept under by an undercurrent that pins him underneath a rock, inescapable and inevitable.

And the trumpet sounds.

She's coming home.

**And wow. After 22 pages, there ya go. Annie's Games are over. ****J**


End file.
